TRANSFORMERS: Blood & Iron
by Lein
Summary: At the close of the Nineteenth century, when Science was in its infancy, a race of mechanical alien robots are awaken and start the greatest war known to man.
1. The Resurection

**Prologue **

**THE WESTERN SIBERIAN PLANES: 1898**

The horses galloped along at high speed, kicking up a combination of snow and frozen mud, as they traveled along.  The two riders were cloaked, obscuring their faces, as they made their way through the forests.  From the woods themselves, only the wolves, out hunting saw these two men as they tore up the narrow muddy track.  They paid them little heed.

The forest grew thick around them, as they rode one behind the other, turning sharp corners, and nearly losing control.  Dead tree branches scraped at their heavy woolen cloaks, threatening to tear them off.  This did not despair the riders.

Then, with a burst of light, they broke out of the entangled forest, and shot out into an open snowy plane.  High above them, the full moon shone down with an eerie glow, making the white snow, seem to shine with a light of it's own.

The riders did not slow down, as they tore across the field.  They only increased their speed.  Of in the distance, loomed an ancient fortress from the days of Alexander 2nd, when the armies of Russia marched eastward towards the North Western Pacific.  It was old, crumpling and forbidding, and as the riders drew near, torchlight sprang up on the castle battlements.

The guard looked down at them, as the two riders screeched to a shuddering halt before the castle drawbridge.  

"Who goes there?"  He called out in Russian.

The lead rider reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small gold medallion.  He then reached back, and threw the object up the guard.  He caught it, and held it before his torchlight.  A few seconds passed, before the guard tossed the medallion back down to the rider.  He then disappeared from view.

A minute later, there was a loud click, followed by the sound of rusty metal gears whining as the drawbridge slowly lowered it's self down.

It landed with a muffled thump that seemed to echo all around the empty frozen plane.  The lead rider spurred his horse, and the two of them, raced into the castle's courtyard.

The lead rider pulled hard on his horse's rains, and the horse protested loudly, nearly throwing its rider.  His companion, trotted up from behind and both riders dismounted with a quick leap, their boots thudding on the stone courtyard.

From the second floor, two guards in exactly the same cloaks made their way down the stone stairs, towards the riders, each one of them carrying an oil lantern.  They walked over to the newly arrived guests.  The guards looked like characters from the Dark Ages, with their clothes, and oil lantern, but the Winchester rifle that was half hidden by the thick woolen cloak of the lead guard, ruined that image.

No words were spoken, as the lead guard and raider just nodded at each other, then the lead guard spoke.  

"The High Priest is waiting for you in the chapel."  The lead rider nodded again, and turned to his companion, and motioned with a gloved hand.

"Come," he said, "We best not keep him waiting."  They followed the guards up the stairs, and into a dimly lit hallway.  It was cramped in this corridor, as there was barely enough room for the men to walk one behind the other. 

Then, the corridor emptied into a grand staircase that overlooked a highly decorated circular room.  Stained glass windows plastered end of the room, with rows upon rows of raised seats, like a pantheon.  In the middle of the room, was a stone alter, with a white cloth covering it.  Before the alter, stood an aging man, with a snow-white beard, wearing the robes of a Russian Orthodox Priest.

All around the room were strange banners; they were pure white, with the red image of the most odd face one had ever seen in the middle of them. 

"Is he the one?"  The hollow voice of the old man called out.  The lead rider step forward, and bowed.  

"Yes, my lord," he replied.  "He is the one."  The old man turned around, to face his guests.

"Come forth," he said, motioning to the other rider.  The man stepped forward, past his friend, and the guards, to stand before the old man.  The riders face was half hidden by the shadows of his hood, but the workings of a thick tangled beard could be seen, jutting from his jaw.  "Are you ready to take the tests?"

"Yes, father," the man replied, "I am.  Test me!"

From a hidden door, a robed man carrying a red box, step forward, and glided over to the priest.  He bowed, and handed the old man the box.  The priest nodded his head to the man, who turned about and left, then placed the box on the stone alter.

"Can you tell me, my son, what is in this box?"

The man's head lowered slightly, and even though he could not see it, the priest could tell he had closed his eyes, and he concentrated.  Finally, his head rose, and he smiled.

"I see nothing," he replied, "Nothing is inside that box."  The priest picked it up, and lifted off the lid, then tilted it forward so all could see.

It was completely empty.

"Well done," the priest said.  "You have earned passageway into the highest order of the Brotherhood.  Kneel before me."  The man kneeled, and the Priest laid his right hand on his covered head.  He mumbled a few words, then looked back down at the man.

"Arise," he commanded, and the man rose, pulling back his hood.  His beard was long, and wavy, with a short mustache, his hair was neat and combed, he had piercing blue eyes, and appeared to be in his mid thirties.  "Tell me, my son, what is your name?"

"Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin," the man replied.

"Brother Rasputin," the priest said to him, "You have been called upon by the order to guard the Romanov family through these dark times.  But an ancient evil threatens to plunge our once peaceful country into terror and war."

Rasputin glanced up at the symbols on the banners that lined the room.  They seemed to be showing a face, but a sad face, one that seemed to be crying.

"Then why call me?"  Rasputin asked.

"For millennia, the guardians have laid dormant, man has been unable to wake them, yet some one with your powers would have no trouble doing so.  The Evil ones forces are gathering, Brother Rasptuin, and only the guardians can save us."

"Yes, father," Rasputin replied, bowing before the man.  "I will try my best."

"Then come, we must hurry."

A guide suddenly materialised before the prist, and then they led Rasptuin away into the bowels of the castle.  They left the room, and descended down a tightly packed spiral staircase.  

The stairs continued to go down, and Rasptuin thought that they might actually descend into the depths of hell its self.  

Only when the light of burning torches finally began to glow, did Rasptuin relax.  The stairs ended, and came out into a long, narrow corridor.  Torches lit the way, towards a small wooden door at the very end.

"Come," The prist said, as his guide helped him down the hall.  At the end, the Priest knocked on the door, then muttered a low sound he thought the old man could not possible produce.  

There was a loud click, and the door swung open.  A cloaked man carrying a bolt-action rifle, appeared on the other side of the door.  He nodded at the prist, and glared at Rasputin.  Rasputin glared back with his own intense eyes, making the guard cringe.

"Enough," The prist warned, and they went through the door.  The room emptied into an enormous underground cavern that seemed to stretch on forever.  Phosphorate filled the cavern with an eerie glow that made even Rasputin shiver in fear.

Then, he saw it.

He gasped, and nearly staggered back in shear amazement.  Not far away, lay the biggest metal object he'd ever seen.  It was a dull orange colour, and seemed to be shaped like an arrowhead.  There were about six funnels that projected from the back of the thing, that obviously moved it, and it lay on an odd angle, tilted 45 degrees to the left.

It was then, that he noticed the strange red faces that he saw on the banners were plastered all over the thing.

"My, God!"  Rasptuin whispered.  

The prist turned and smiled at him.  "Welcome, Brother Rasptuin.  Welcome to the Ark!"

**.....................................................................**

****

**TRANSFORMERS: Generation 1**

**"TRANSFORMERS: Blood & Iron"**

**By Lein**

**.....................................................................**

**Central Scotland: Two Weeks Later…**

The howling winds tore through the leave-less trees, sending the leaves on the forest ground spiraling into the air.  Lighting flashed, and thunder crackled.  Through the forest, a lone black-coloured, twin horsed carriage drove along at full speed.

"Hi-Yaah!"  The driver yelled out, as he cracked the whip, making the horse increase their already dangerous speed.

Inside the cab, the man in the black cloak, and top hat, checked his pocket watch, before glancing out through the distorted image of the passenger's side window.  The rain thrummed loudly on the roof of the carriage as he sat there for what seemed like hours, just staring at the foliage on ether side of the road.  Not that there was much to see.  Sheets of water streamed down over the sides of the windows, making anything outside to see, virtually impossible.

Lighting lit up the night sky, and the thunderclap that followed actually made the man jump, and he nearly was catapulted from his seat.  The driver seemed to finally realise the danger he was inviting at the high speeds and he slowed down a fraction, just as the carriage careened over a slight raised section of the road, sending the vehicle into the air for a split second, before bouncing back down on the road with a shuddering jolt.  

"Please, be careful," the man muttered to the roof where the driver obviously sat.  He drummed the fingers of his right hand on the leather suitcase he cradled on his lap, and with the other, reached up to grab the handle by the door.

Through the pouring rain, the carriages lamps illuminated an old wooden termite infested sign that rested on the edge of the road.  It swung about like crazy in the wind; on it's rusty hinges.  It was amazing that it was still standing at all.

The passenger leaned over, as if to get a closer look.  The rain-slashed windows, which was almost impossible to see through, made it very difficult to read the words.  He was traveling at dangerous speeds for the conditions, but still, he managed to get a quick glance at the sign, as he passed it.  

"RANNOCH MANSION: 4K Ahead"

The man smiled.  He was nearing his destination.  He leaned back in his seat, to enjoy the rest of the ride in comfort.  In just a few more minutes, he'd find out what required him to make a trip all the way form London on such short notice.

After some time, the driver banged down on the roof, and shouted out something, which the passenger didn't catch.  Staring forward, past the warped image of the rain slashed windows, the man saw the black silhouette of a mansion, looming in the distance, and he felt the carriage slowing down.  As it did so, the front lamps flashed upon a rusty old iron gate that blocked their path.  The carriage stopped, and the driver jumped down, and hurried over to the gates.

There was no lock on them, and the driver rushed forward and pushed hard on them.  The gates swung wide open in the wind and banged loudly.  The driver went back to the carriage, climbed back up into his seat, and drove in through the gates, and then stopped, as he jumped back down, walked back to close the gates behind him.  

It was a long, wooded driveway, loosely gravelled.  Nothing could be seen on either side, the hedges and plants that grew there, were so thick and over grown.  Finally, the carriage came to the end of the driveway, and as the driver brought the carriage to a stop, lighting dashed across the sky, lighting everything up like day, and the passenger stared at the building in front of him.

It was a massive two story grey-bricked building. The front porch stuck out more forward the rest of the building, with a small flight of stone steps leading to a pair of large wooden doors. To the left was a small arch like part, with the windows set far into the house. On a ledge in front was a small statue of a man holding some sort of scythe. To the right, it extended on, unremarkable. But it was the size that was amazing. The rest disappeared into the gloom that the trees created out around it.  

There were no lights on in the house anywhere.

Out of instinct, he reached into his cloak to where the revolver lay strapped to his chest.  He then picked up his top hat, and then grabbing the umbrella from the seat next to him, he got out of the carriage as the driver opened the door for him, and hurried over to the front door.  He shook the umbrella free of water, and then turning about, looked at the door.  He then grabbed the doorknocker, and banged it as loudly as he could.

For a few eerie moments, there was silence.  Lighting flashed and thunder roared, making the man shiver.  He then banged harder.  "Hello!"  He shouted out.  "Is anyone home?"  He turned around to talk to the driver, but blinked in amazement, to see the lamps of the carriage ridding off into the stormy night.

He banged a third time, and still, no one answered.  Shivering from the cold, he tried the door handle.  It turned, and the doors opened.  Suddenly, a gust of wind blew into the porch, and pulled the door handles from his grasp, allowing the double doors, swung wide open with a bang.  

The man found himself standing inside a huge room filled with posh looking furniture.  This was the front parlour; its huge windows gave views of the outside although the water from the rain distorted the view warping it to some obscure image of a deranged artist's view of the world.  The curtains hung like limp flags in a still breeze.  From the ceiling hung a crystal chandler with flickering candles.  Other candles in sconces along the walls cast shadowy patterns on the wallpaper and at the far end stood 2 wooden doors set apart from one another, both closed.

Hesitantly, he entered the room, and then putting down his umbrella, he turned around and closed both of the front doors, struggling against the wind.  They closed with a loud bang, and quickly muffled the sounds of the storm, raging outside, plunging the room into silence.  He turned around, and looking about, walked into the centre of the room, his black polished shoes echoing with every step on the polished marble floor.

"Greetings!"  The sound of the voice from behind him made the man scream out in alarm.  He spun around, whipping out the revolver, to see a shadowy figure, standing in an open doorway, of to his right.  

"Who in God's name are you!"  The man demanded.

"Put that away," the man replied, walking forward, "If the master wanted you dead, he could've done that years ago."

He was hesitant at first, but realising the truth in the man's words, slowly placed the revolver back inside his cloak.  The man then walked over and lit an oil lamp.  Light filled the room, as he turned up the brightness, and then turned to face his guest.

The man was in his late fifties, wearing a butler's uniform.  "You must apologise for my lateness, sir," he answered, "With the sounds of the storm outside, sounds can get somewhat, confusing."

"Whatever," the man answered, taking of his cloak, and placing it on a coat rack.  "Do you know why I'm here?"

"All will be explained," the butler replied.  "Please, follow me."

With the room lit, the man looked around the room he was in. It was fairly big, with twin staircases leading up to a second floor. Three large doors lead to other parts of the house, one to his left, one to his right, and one straight ahead. There was a large chandelier above him that could light the whole room. 

"Sir?"  He looked up and saw the butler waiting halfway up the steps. 

"Oh, yes, I'm coming," he said as he quickly climbed the stairs to fall in behind the   
butler. He was lead down a dimly lit corridor towards a large double door at the end. 

"Inside," the butler said as he pushed them both open. 

The man walked out onto a small balcony, overlooking a room below. There was no furniture in this room, save for two large armchairs, a roaring fireplace, and a large painting of her majesty, Queen Victoria, which hung above the fireplace. In the dark shadows of the room, he saw bookshelves lined with thousands upon thousands of books. 

He was in the library. 

"Come in, Mr. Wells." 

He looked down at the two armchairs and saw that one was occupied. He slowly descended the staircase towards the library below. 

"Are you the one who dragged me all the way across the entire country?"  Wells asked.

"Yes, you could say that," The man answered.  He raised a cup of tea in Well's direction.  "At long last, the famous H. G. Wells, in my library."

Wells just made a face, "If you are a fan of my writings, I do not do private parties!  If you have called me all the way from London just to…"

"Relax, Herbert," the man said in a soothing voice.  "My name is Quentin McLeod, of Her Majesties Secret Service."  He then pointed the teacup in Wells's Direction.  "Since you are in no mode to chat, I'll skip right to the point.  The Empire needs your services, Mr. Wells." 

"The Empire," Wells said, peering at McLeod as if looking over a pear of specials, "Needs me?  What on Earth for, I'm just an author!"

"But you are also a man of vision," McLeod said, standing up.  He wore a neat grey suit with dark brown muttonchops, and short hair.  "And your ideas of the future, and of… alien life, have lead us towards you, for a specific reason."

Wells gave the agent a hard look.  His views on alien life?  "I confess," Wells said, "You have peaked my curiosity, for what purpose do you need my help in?"

McLeod walked over to a pool table, to were a small vanilla folder lay.  He picked it up, and walked over to Wells, handing it to him.  Wells was hesitant to take it, but slowly reached out, and took it from him, opening it up.

Inside was a small 8 by ten photo of…  Wells gasped aloud.  In the middle of a common, lay a large metallic cylinder, gleaning in the mid-day sun.  In the picture, a soldier stood by in order to present a size comparison.  It was well over 80 feet long, and 30 feet tall. 

"This can't be!"  Wells cried out, looking back up at McLeod.  "War of the Worlds was just a story, a work of fiction!  It isn't real!"

"That's what we first thought," McLeod said, pointing towards the folder, "But everything just seemed so real to your story."

"Has there been any contact from within the… craft?"  Wells asked in a hesitant voice.

McLeod shook his head.  "It crashed down to Earth about two weeks ago.  Since then, nothing.  He turned and gestured at the photograph.  "This… thing, has a lot of important people scared, Wells.  _Very_ important people.  I don't need to tell you how sacred the public is with Germany attempting to become a navel power second to none.  The last thing we need are Martians roaming about blasting people with heat rays."

"That's if this thing is from Mars."  Wells added, glancing back down to the photo in his hand.  "If you need my help with this thing, I'll do everything I can, but I must warn you, I am a writer, not a scientist."

"Excellent," McLeod said, his mode suddenly brightening.  "We'll head off to the crash sight, first thing in the morning."

Wells tapped his chin, as his gaze lingered over one particular spot in the photo.  "Ummm, Excuse me, McLeod?"

"Hmmm?"

"I was just curios, as to what this is?"  He pointed to the symbol on the side of the cylinder.

"We don't know," McLeod replied.  It could be anything, but the some of the top brass from the royal society believe it to be some kind writing."  He gestured for the folder, and Wells handed it to him.  He leafed through the contents, and pulled out a sheet of A4 sized paper, and handed it to Wells.  "An artist made a colour copy of the image for further study." 

"I see," Wells replied in a mummer.  The image he was looking at, was a symbol of some sort, but it appeared to be a face.  Its edges were sharp and pointed, with eyes that seemed to bore right into the soul.  And the face it made, seemed to install terror into Wells's heart.  

The image, was a dark purple colour.

**LONDON: The Next Day…**

The men's lounge of 'The Morning Post' Newspaper building wasn't packed like it usually was on the weekend.  Most of the paper's reporters where at home, enjoying the weekend, doing some work around the office, or out on some sort of major story.

Some of the reporters were smoking, laughing, or enjoying a good cup of brandy.  Cigar smoke clouded the ceiling of the room.  In the corner, an old Gramophone was playing some sort of song by some unknown French girl.

The door at the entrance of the room opened, and in came a neatly dressed man in his early thirties. Winston Churchill was not in the best of modes as he walked in through the front door of The Morning Post, and carried his displeasure all the way up to the men's lounge.

He flung the door back with a loud bang, grabbing every one's attention.  "Where the devil is he?"  Winston snarled.

"Well, good morning to you too, Winston," a man in his early twenties answered.

"Where is Borthwick?"  Winston asked through his teeth.

"Where else would he be," another man replied, taking a sip of brandy, "In his office where he was when you left for South Africa, and he's still there when you came back."  He gave a shrug.  "So it's my guess that he's still in his office."

Winston snarled something unpleasant and marched boldly out of the men's lounge and towards the big door that read, 'EDITOR in CHIEF.'

Oliver Borthwick, the Editor in Chief of the Morning Post was a very old man, of age 64.  In fact, he was almost ready for retirement.  His hair was starting to go bald on him, and he was losing the dark colour of his hair.  A stodgy was perched on his slightly parted lips, and his feet where up on the desk.  His tie lay on the floor, and his sleaves where rolled up.  A half eaten pastry treat, lay on his desk.

"Borthwick!"  The man didn't glance up, and his door was thrown open, threatening to dislodge the glass window there.  "What's the meaning of this!?"

"It's hot Winston," he replied, tugging at his collar, "So I decided to take a few things off.  Just because you're a Churchill, doesn't mean I have to look my best around you all the time."

"No, not that," Winston said, waving away the joke with one arm.  He then thrust a piece of paper into the editor's face.  "I mean this!"

Borthwick didn't bother to read it.  He already knew what it said; after all, he'd sent it.  "It means what it says, Winston," Borthwick snuffed his stodgy out in the ashtray.  "I need you here."

"For what!?!"  Winston cried out, throwing his arms up in the air.  "When I resigned my commission in the army to go into politics, I never thought in a million years I'd end up being batted around the Empire like a shuttle cock in a game of badminton."

"Winston," Borthwick said, rasing a hand to silence him.  "For once in your life, shut up and listen."  When the man was silent, Borthwick continued.  "A friend of mine in the army sent me quite an interesting photo last week."  He reached into a drawer in his desk, and pulled out an opened envelope.  "And I must admit, Winston, this is nothing compared with the troubles going on in South Africa."

Winston gave the Editor in Chief a funny look, before snatching the envelope from his hand.  He reached in, and pulled out a small photo.  His eyes widened, and then he shoved it into Borthwicks face.  

"What is this?  Some practical joke?"  He said.

"For God's sake, Winston," Borthwick moaned, pushing the photo aside, "I'm not that blind."

"And I'm not that behind the times, Borthwick," Winston replied, "I've read War of the Worlds too."  He looked at the photo of the cylinder.  "This has to be a forgery.  But I must admit, it's the best forgery I've ever seen."

"Winston," Borthwick said, leaving him a hard look.  "It's real."  He was about to rebuttal, but Borthwick quickly interrupted him.  "This source is the best source I have, and I know he wouldn't send me a joke."

"But…  But…"  Winston stammered.  "It can't be real!"

"Then find that out, Winston," Borthwick said.  "You're my best corespondent.  If anyone can discover the truth, it's you!"

Winston still couldn't believe it.  Martians?  It just wasn't possible.  It couldn't be.  "Very well," Winston replied, "I'll go and prove this to be the hoax it is."

"Good," Borthwick said with a smile.  "Because you're leaving 12:30 PM sharp for Scotland."

"That was quick."  Winston said narrowing an eye.  "You had all this planed before hand, didn't you."

"Time is curtail, Winston," Borthwick said.  "By the time you get there, things may have gotten out of hand.  Or the joke may be over.  Either way, I want you in the thick of it when it dose happen."

"That doesn't give me much time to prepare," Winston said, taking out his pocket watch and checking the time.

"Well, neither dose war, Winston," Borthwick said, his face suddenly growing cold.

"Oh, for heaven's sake, Borthwick, relax.  This isn't South Africa you know."

"No, you're right," he said.  "It's much worse."

**IN THE WATERS OF CUBA: Two Days Later…**

Theodore Roosevelt looked out over the blue open waters of the Atlantic, as the USS Huston sailed back to America.  Beside him, the newly promoted Brigadier General John 'Black Jack' Pershing, stood.  Both men looked back at the vanishing shores of Cuba.

Teddy sucked in a deep breath of the sweet, pure air of the sea.  "Like wine in the lungs," he said to John, "No stink of Gun Powder, no sickly smell of blood, and no more blasted heat."

"Ay men to that Colonel," John said with a huge grin.  "Thought I my confess, I do miss the thrill of the battle."

"Me too, John," Teddy replied, "me too, but I have a wife and a family back home who miss me even more."  He then turned, as if looking towards the United States.  "Don't worry, my Dearest Edith, your Teddy will be home soon."

John just nodded simply.  "I guess now that with you and your boys going home, I'll stop having to call you Colonel?"

"Well, Bully," Teddy said, "I was just getting used to that rank, but you can call me what ever like, considering you out rank me now."

"Dose that mean I can call you Teddy?"  He asked with a grin.

"Don't push it, Black Jack."  Teddy replied.  Both men chuckled among them selves as they watched the ever-fading shoreline sink behind the horizon.

"Now that you've got your slice of glory, Roosevelt," John asked, "What are your plans for the future?"

"What else, my dear friend," Teddy said with a grin, "But the President of the United States."

"With the stunt you pulled of at San Juan Hill, you're bound to be a shoe in."  John said.  "Although it won't make McKinley happy."

"Well, Bully for him," Teddy cried out.  "Say, when will we be back on America's shores?"

"At our present speed," John looked over the edge of the ship as if calculating the mathematics in his head.  "We'll be in Miami tomorrow."

Just then, a young man, most likely an orderly, approached the two men with a nervous expression on his face.  "Excuse me, Colonel Roosevelt?"

"For God sakes, boy," The man thundered, giving him a hearty slap on the back, "I'm outta the army now, call me Teddy!"

"Uhhh, Teddy,"

"Yes?"

"I was given order from W…"  The boy paused.  Teddy suspected he was about to say Washington, but quickly covered his tracks.  "My superiors."  He said instead.  "Information forwarded by American sympathisers in London regarding a possible threat to our shores."

"Who, the Spanish?"  Teddy laughed out loud, "We've gone and done, licked them, boy!  Who else could threaten us?"

"I'm not sure sir," the boy answered.  "All I know, is that you've been asked to come to Washington by the State Department, and the Secretary for War."

Teddy's eyes narrowed into a serious mode, as he turned from the boy, to John, and back again.  "A serious threat you say?"

"That's what I was told."

"Why tell me?"  Teddy asked.

"From what I was told, the president ignored the information, regarding it as stupid British nonsense."

"Arrgh," Teddy growled in frustration, throwing up his hands, "McKinley!  That pompous idiot wouldn't take a threat seriously until it was on the very steps of the white house."  He then slapped the handrails of the ship, and grinned back at the boy.  "Very well, you can count on Ol' Teddy Roosevelt's support.  How about you, John?  Are you in the mode for another adventure?"

"Why not?"  John replied with a shrug.  "I'll most likely end up being posted to some God forsaken fort along the Mexican frontier when I get back."

"Splendid!"  Roosevelt cried out, as he turned towards the boy.  "When do we leave for Washington?"

"The moment you get into Miami."  He said.  "All your luggage will be transferred to another ship, and you'll make a non stop trip all the way."

"Humph, no rest for the wiry, 'ey?"  Roosevelt said.  "When we get to Washington, then we'll see what kind of adventure we'll be in for.   I believe that the coming days should be just bully!"

**BREADALBANE: SCOTLAND: Yesterday **

After yet another bumpy carriage ride out to the middle of nowhere, H. G. Wells was finally ready to see the craft that bore a striking resemblance to the one's in his own stories.

As they drove along the road, they came up to a checkpoint, guarded by six men in red coats.  Soldiers.  The ranking officer ordered the carriage to stop, and checked the driver's papers.

"This is our stop," McLeod told Wells, "We're going to have to foot it the rest of the way.  Oh, don't worry, it's not that far."

The soldiers asked the both of them for identification, one man even asked Wells for an autograph, but was quickly reprimanded by his ranking officer.

"You do know," Wells, told McLeod, "I am feeling just a shot of nervousness about the whole thing."

"You think you're worried, could you imagine the faces of the top brass back in London when they got news of this."  In the beginning, McLeod had been sceptical himself.

Not the least of the cause of this change of attitude had been a rather hurried letter from his superiors telling him basically to keep things as they were while they figured out what the hell they were going to do. Actually that had been the second letter. The first had gone something like: 'This had better be either a mistake or the beginning of a very good joke'. 

It was mid afternoon when they had arrived that the sight.  The sun glared down with all its intensity, making Wells tug at his collar as they walked along.  Here and there, he could make out soldiers, making regular rounds, patrolling the area.

"And here we are!"  McLeod announced, as they came to the top of a hill.  There in the field below him, lay the cylinder.  Wells mouth dropped open in amazement.  It was almost exactly like the one he'd dreamed up in his story.

Artillery surrounded the spacecraft, while soldiers littered the area.  Men in white lab coats scurrying all around the object, doing all sorts of arcane scientific things.

"My God," Wells gasped.

"Well, there it is, Mr Wells," McLeod said pointing at it with his cane, "Do you still think this is a hoax now?"

"I…  I…"  Wells could only stammer in reply.  "Incredible."  He finally managed to say.

"It won't be incredible if whatever's inside turns out to be hostile."

"War of the Worlds was just a story, McLeod," Wells snapped.  "The chances of Martians inside with giant tripods and heat rays are astronomical."

"So where the chances of anything coming from Mars," McLeod said, quoting Wells novel.  "Yet they came."

"Well, something came, I'll give you that much credit," Wells answered.

"But what?"  McLeod asked.

There was an awaked silence between the two men, before a short balding man with specials, wearing a white lab coat came out of a tent, and recognising them, made a beeline for the two men.

"Ahh," he said, drawing their attention.  "Mr. Wells, I'm so glad you decided to join us."

"It's a pleasure," Wells said, holding out his hand.

"Professor Chester Hurst, Oxford University."  The man replied, accepting Wells's hand and shaking it.

"Professor Hurst?"  Wells said, narrowing his eyes.  "Ahhh, now I remember.  I read your essay on the use of armoured vehicles for war.  I found it rather stimulating."

"Thankyou Mr. Wells," Hurst said with a bright smile.  "Coming from someone like you, that means a lot."

"Your welcome," Wells said, and then turned to look at the cylinder.  "So, any idea what that is?"

"A Martian space ship?"  Hurst said with a lop sided grin.  Wells made a face.

"Professor!"  He warned.

"Just kidding," Hurst said holding up his hands in defence, "You writers have the sense of humour of a brick."  He then turned and pointed at the object.  "So far, we've managed to discover that this thing, came from a location, further than Mars."

"So it's not Martian?"  McLeod asked.

"No," Hurst answered.  "As for that thing," he then pointed to the dark purple horrifying face on the cylinders side, "We've come to the conclusion that it's not writing at all, but some sort of national flag."

"How curious," Wells muttered.

"Anything else?"  McLeod asked.

"There seem to be some sort of electrical pulses from within the ship.  However, they are weak, and very low.  Perhaps whatever powered this thing was operating with low capacity."

"What do you mean?"  McLeod asked.

"From what we've deciphered from the engines, the craft gave of a burst of power every so often.  With no friction in space, it was gradually picking up speed, covering a long distance in a short time as it gradually picked up speed."

"Is there any sign of a door, or opening of some kind?"

"Not that we can tell," Hurst replied, "There doesn't seem to be any sort of…"

Wells never herd the rest of what Hurst had to say.  While the two men were talking, he'd started walking towards the craft.  It was just like the cylinder from his dreams, the one he'd used for the Martins in his famous novel.

He wandered up to the ship, the soldiers watched him from a distance.  He walked along side the ship, coming to the stop before the giant purple face.  His right hand came up, and touched the crafts side.  It wasn't burning hot like in his story; after all, it'd been resting for nearly two weeks here.  It was cold, and lifeless.  

He could feel the occasional thud of electricity from deep within the ship, pulsing like a weak heart beat.  Then, his fingers drew over the face, and he froze.  The image was unlike anything he'd ever seen.  Its eyes glowered down; its sharp features seemed to warn all around to back off.

"What do you think?"

"Jesus!"  Wells jumped, and spun around, to see Hurst and McLeod standing behind him.

"Find any openings, Mr. Wells?"  McLeod asked.

"None what so ever!"  Hurst answered for him, offended that Wells could find something that he hadn't found in two weeks of research.

"I really don't think we should open this thing, gentlemen," Wells said, looking back up at the purple face.  "I have a bad feeling about it."

"What makes you so sure," McLeod asked, rubbing his chin, and looking at the purple face that Wells was looking at.

"Nonsense," Hurst snorted.  "There's no life signs inside that thing, and even if there were, we would've discovered them by now."

"The same thing was said by Ogilby, the astronomer, a character in my story.  And we're all aware of what happened to him, aren't we."

"Mr. Wells," Hurst said, pointing at the cylinder, "Nothing living could live inside that ship.  It's completely empty."

"Then that's even more a reason not to open it," Wells said.  "After all, we as human beings are only aware of what's around us and there for, if we don't know what something is, then it can't possibly exist."

"So you're saying that the alien life forms in there don't need air to breath?"

"That's a possibility," Wells said with a shrug.  "Hurst said that there have been no sounds from inside the ship, other than the sounds of electricity operating.  What if the creatures inside are lying in a sate of hibernation.  Like a bear."

"Hibernation?"  McLeod asked.

"Yes," Hurst said, rubbing his chin, "I see what you mean.  That would make a lot of sense.  And that would explain a few things."  

Both Wells and McLeod looked at each other, then back at Hurst.  "Explain what few things?"  McLeod asked.

"Mr. Wells," Hurst said, "Did you feel the heartbeat like electrical pulses when you touched the ship?"

"Yes, I did," Wells said.

"Would you care to take another feel?"  Confusion crossed Wells's face as he slowly reached up, and touched the ship again.  "Tell me, what do you feel?"

Wells was about to say the same thing he felt before, but he quickly paused.  Something was different.  Narrowing his eyes, he concentrated, and realised.  "The pulses are weaker than before."  He said.

"Exactly," Hurst replied with a nod.

"What dose that mean?"  McLeod asked.

"It means the ship is slowly running out of power," Hurst answered.  "Well, that's what we first thought, but Mr. Wells idea of hibernation has roused a new theory."

"Which is?"

"That it's not running out of power, rather counting down," Wells said.

"Counting down?"  McLeod said, more confused than before.  "Counting down to what?"

"Re-Awakening."  Wells said.  McLeod glanced up at the huge craft, and for the first time since they meet, Wells saw the man visibly shiver.

**NORTHEN QUEENSLAND: AUSTRALIA: Three Days Later…**

Colonel Richards raised the Winchester to his shoulder, squinted down the sights, and pulled the trigger.  The rifle bucked against his shoulder.  The shot echoed throughout the endless expanses of the tropical jungle, making many of the countries native birds take to the air with strange, almost alien squawks.

"Take that, ya damned Englishman!"  He shouted in his heavy Scottish accent, as he worked the lever.  A brass cartridge case leapt into the air, then fell to the ground with a small clink.  He aimed the rifle for another shot.  He didn't fire.  A couple of hundred yards away, the kangaroo staggered, after it's first frantic bound.  As the others bounded away, into the thick of the trees, it took a few more wobbling hops, then fell to the ground.  Richards shouted in triumph, and quickly rushed over to where the dead animal lay.

"Good shot, Colonel."  Ivan Sankowski replied in the best English he could manage.

"You know Colonel," Gregory Steel said in his English accent, "I AM right here, you know."  Richards smiled at him, and nodded.

"I know."  He said with a giant grin.  "An' I don't give a fuck!"  He laughed, and climbed over the ancient fallen tree trunk.  Steel just rolled his eyes, and followed, with Ivan right behind him.

Richards had, almost a dark tan, from being under the harsh Australian sun for nearly a decade.  He was nearing his 40th year, and had just recently been promoted to the rank of Colonel in Her Majesties Army.  The color of his hair -- hidden beneath the white safari helmet -- matched that of his crimson uniform.

Behind Richards, was Sir Gregory Steel, a 45-year-old train tycoon from London, who was busy expanding his own private empire into the Dominions.  He wore a khaki suit complete with jet-black hiking boots, and a safari hat.  His mustache was short, and clean, with dark brown muttonchops protruding down from under his hat.

Behind him, walked Ivan Sankowski.  Sankowski was from the Ukraine area of Imperial Russia.  He'd been a big game hunter in the northern areas of the island Continent, and was now a valued tracker.  He was a big man at the age of fifty, with a thick, bushy steel gray mustache, and slight sign of wrinkles.  He wore light khaki trousers, faded brown cowboy boots, with a white short-sleeved shirt, and a small khaki vest.  A wide brimmed light brown hat covered his graying hair.

They were in this relatively unknown part of Northern Australia on official Empire business.  Now, with missionaries arriving more frequently, it would be important to secure this tropical jungle to make it more safe for settlers.  That and someone back in Sydney suggested that rubber, a precious raw material that was found in jungles like the Belgian Congo, the Dutch East Indies, and the Amazon, could be found in the rain forests of Northern Queensland.

"Has any European ever been this far north before?"  Richards asked.

"Not to this place, no," Sankowski replied.  "The local native population don't even bother coming here."

"Why's that?"  

"They believe this area is sacred, that's why," Sankowski replied.  Both Steel and Richards nodded.  They'd come this far North with an Expedition party of about 20 men.  Now, it was just the three of them.  The local natives that they brought with them to carry all their equipment, and supplies and so on, refused to go any further, spouting some gibberish about sacred ground.

*No men are allowed beyond these trees,* the eldest and leader of the packers had said.  *It is forbidden.*

Steel had tried everything from bribery to pleading with the packers, but they wouldn't budge.  Sankowski had threatened to shoot him, if Steel attempted to shoot a few of the natives to get them into line.  Instead, Sankowski suggested that they travel the rest of the way by themselves.  

Finally, they were in the heart of the tropical rain forest it's self.  Dense trees packed closely together that reminded the three men of pictures they'd seen of the Amazon.  "Wow," Richards said, looking around.  "I've never seen anything like this back in Brisbane," Richards said.

"That's because you stick to much to your damn barracks," Ivan replied.  "You should get out more."

"Well, gentlemen," Steel said, taking of his pack and resting it against a tree, "Shall we proceed with the ceremony then?"

"Okay, okay," Richards, said, as they all put down their packs.  Richards then opened up his pack, and pulled out the British flag.  He then assembled the poll, and stuck it in the ground.  "I here by claim this land, and the surrounding lands, in the name of her majesty, Queen Victoria and the Empire of Britain."  Both Richards and Steel saluted the flag.  Ivan just lit his pipe.  Richards then pulled out a set of bagpipes, and began to play 'Rule Brittaina,' while Steel sang the words.  

"To Colonialism," Ivan muttered.  He sucked it, and blew a few smoke rings into the air.  With the sun coming down in two hours, the trio decided to set up camp for the night.  Each man had his own tent.  They spent the remainder of the afternoon building their camp.  As afternoon melted into dusk, they all settled down to a dinner of roast Kangaroo, a few vegetables, and a nice hot cup of tea.

After dinner, they all sat around the fire, smoking their respective pipes.  Ivan was glancing up at the stars, when Richards turned to talk to him.  "Hey Ivan," he asked, "What do you suppose those natives are afraid of?"

"Who knows?"  Ivan replied, without taking his eyes away.  He sucked on his pipe, and blew the smoke out through his nose.  "There are hundreds of undiscovered animals out there," he gestured with his hand towards the dense foliage of the tall trees, hiding the moonlight from their eyes.  "I've herd rumours of giant man-eating lizards in the Dutch East Indies.  Enormous creatures that roam the most isolated islands.  We still haven't come close to exploring this entire continent yet, there could be some sort of weird animal out here.  You know how the Natives of India worship the cow.  Perhaps they worship an animal that roams here."  He shrugged his shoulders.  "Then again, maybe some witch doctor, a long time ago, used this place for sacrifice or something."

"Giant man-eating lizards?"  Steel asked with anxiety.

"I said rumours.  Besides, I believe that some over excited drunk probably saw a crocodile that had swam all the way from the Northern Territories."  Ivan replied.  He then leaned forward, picking up a stick, and jostling it around in the fire, sending sparks into the air.  "Anyway, we have guns and plenty of flammable stuff, there's nothing to be afraid of."  He turned to look Steel directly in the eyes.  "We run into anything that gives us trouble, we'll simply remind them just whose on the top of the evolutionary ladder."

Richards sucked on his pipe, and let out a long trail of smoke into the air.  "Anything that tries to mess with me, is going to learn second worse thing you can do, is anger a Scott."  Richards fingered the trigger on his Winchester.

"The second?"  Ivan asked raising an eyebrow.  "What's the first?"

"Calling 'em an English man," Richards said with a half smile.

"Hah," Steel scoffed.  "You Highland Heathens don't respect anything about England.  Where would you be without England?  What about all the good things that have come out of England?"

"Ach," Richards said, leaning back, "The only good thing to come out of England, was the road to Scotland."  Ivan couldn't help but burst out laughing, nearly dropping his pipe in the fire.

"Well," Steel said, "I'm glad you find it amusing, but may I remind you, that it's _England _that's out there, brining civilization to the world!  Our flag now stands on roughly one fourth of the planet, Colonel Richards.  One fourth!"

"And y're damned welcome to it," Richards said, "Give me Scotland any day.  Five more years, 'an I can retire to an army barracks in the Highlands.  When that day rolls 'round, I'll be more happy than I have ever been in my life."

"Okay," Ivan said hastily, "Let's talk about something else, shall we?"

"Like what?"  Steel asked.

"Like what lies ahead of us? This area has only been treed by the local Aborigines, most who never have come back, and they've been surviving in this place since Europeans lived in caves."  He glanced over at a fallen tree trunk.  "Millions of years ago, this dry continent once was covered in a lush tropical jungle, much like the Amazon.  Now, after the shifting of continents, this is all that's left.  This is the one part of Australia that has not changed in millions of years of evolution."

"I don't really care that much," Richards replied with a shrug.  "A forest's a forest to me."

"See," Steel said, "Is it any wonder with that attitude it's not Scotland that's dominating the world?"  Richards pointed an accusing finger at him.

"Don't make me brake y'er jaw, English!"  He said in a calm tone of voice.

"How about we call it a night, shall we?"  Ivan asked of the cuff.  

"Yes," Steel said, "We could all use a good nights rest for our long journey tomorrow."

"Should we keep watch?"  Richards asked.  Ivan glanced over the surrounding jungle.

"No," he said after a while, "I don't think so.  We haven't come across any predators in about a week.  We shouldn't get much trouble out here, except for the occasional herbivore, like Skippy here."  He gestured at the half eaten meat on the spit.

"Fine," Steel said, crawling into his tent, "I shall see you both in the morning."  He then zipped up the fly screen on his tent, and got out his blanket.  Richards followed suit, leaving Ivan to douse out the fire, and bury any remaining meat.  Then, he crawled into his tent, zipped up the fly screen, and covered himself with his blanket.

As he closed his eyes, and drifted of to sleep, he could've sworn he heard the sound of far of chanting, playing long into the night.

***

Ivan blinked open his eyes to sunlight.  He sighed happily, and sat up, yawning, and wiping the sleep from his eyes.  Running his hand through his hair, he crawled forward, and unzipped his tent.  He crawled out into the fresh Australian air, and took in a deep breath.  He then clambered off all fours, and looked about.

Sunlight stabbed its way through the canopy of the treetops.  That strange laughing bird he'd heard about echoed all around the trees, and he grimaced at the fowl taste in his mouth.

He picked up a frying pan, and banged a metal spoon against it.  "Rise an shine, everybody," he said, "it's time for a quick breakfast, and then, we're off again."

"I don't believe I asked for a wake up call," Steel moaned from his tent.  Richard's tent flap opened, and he climbed out, already dressed up in his military uniform, with his jacket undone.

"Well, I'm ready," he said.

They all arose for a quick breakfast of fried eggs and bacon.  After breakfast they washed up, and packed up, and were ready to go in just under an hour.   Ivan led the way, followed by Richards, with Steel bringing up the rear.

As they hiked deeper into the jungle, the trees grew closer, thicker; making it almost impossible for any sunlight to make it's way through.  It got so bad, that all three men pulled out oil lamps, and lit them, before continuing their way.

As it almost grew into night, Ivan paused, and looked around.

"What's the matter?"  Richards asked, walking up to him.

"Something's wrong," Ivan replied.  He shone the lamp ahead of him.  It barely penetrated seven feet.  "I don't know, but I've got a bad feeling."

"Just superstition," Steel said, charging ahead of him, with his lamp held high, "Honestly, Sankowski, you're just as worse as those—"

"HOLD!!"  Ivan suddenly shouted, grabbing Richards roughly around the shoulders.

"Whoa!"  Steel cried out, as his right foot came down on nothing but empty air.  Richards rushed up, and held up his lamp.  The track ended abruptly and vanished down into darkness.

Ivan leaned his head closer to Steel's ear.  "Next time I say something wrong, you listen, got it!"  He hissed.  Steel nodded and whipped away some sweat from his brow.

"I can't see the bott'm!"  Richards said, peering down into the darkness.  Ivan picked up a rock, and tossed it into the darkness.  They all herd it bounce of rock, after rock on the way down, before echoing it's landing.

"Well, it has a bottom," Ivan muttered, taking off his pack, and reaching in, pulled out a fleer gun.  He leveled the gun, and fired.  There was a bright flash of light, as the fleer rocketed out over the pit, and arched down into the darkness, lighting the way.

"My God!"  Steel whispered.  "What is that?"

There was something down there, that wasn't part of the natural rock formation.  It was huge and metallic.

"I don't know," Ivan muttered, "But I'm going to find out."  He stuffed the fleer gun into his belt, and picking up his backpack, stared climbing down the rocky cliff face towards the bottom of the pit.  Richards was close behind him.

"Are you sure that's wise?"  Steel called out to them.

"Fine," Ivan called back to him, "You can stay up there, all alone out here, and warn us of any danger that comes our way."

"Wait!"  Steel cried out, "I'm coming, wait up!"  It took a while before they finally reached the bottom of the pit.  They all walked closer to the object, shining their lamps at the thing.  It was covered in moss, dead leaves, and fallen trees.  Vines wrapped their way all around the thing like vanes, holding it in place.

"Wow!"  Richards whispered.

"Wow indeed Colonel," Ivan said.

"What is it?"  Steel asked, staying just behind the two men.    
  


"What makes you think I would know now," Ivan muttered.  He and Richards began to climb all over it, exploring it from top to bottom, while Steel stood back, and began to assemble his camera.  

"This is incredible," he muttered, setting up the flash.  "I wonder who could've built it?"  Ivan traced his hands across it.  It was cold and metallic.  Yet it was as old as the mountains of the Urals back in Russia.

Steel's camera flashed as he took a photo, and then hastily began to set up another shot.

"Look," Richards cried out.  Ivan leaned over to see what was the fuss.  The Colonel was shining his lamp over a large hole in the side of the thing, ripped open; it was about the size of a lifeboat.

Both Ivan and Steel hurried over, and peered inside.  "MY God," Steel whispered, "It's like the insides of a submarine."

"It can't be," Ivan said, peering inside with his lamp, "This things older than the whole jungle its self.  How could we humans have built this thing?"

"I don't think humans built this," Richards muttered.

"Martins?"  Steel asked.  Richards shrugged.

"Now, I didn't say that."

"Well, I'm going to find out," Ivan said, as he carefully made his way into the hole, and climbed down.

"Wait fer me!"  Richards said, as he followed.

"Now, I have a bad feeling about this," Steel murmured, as he followed the other two, "So how come no ones listening to me?"

"This is unbelievable," Ivan gasped, shining the lamp around, ignoring Steel's question.  The inside was hollow, and indeed looked like a submarine, but everything was huge and out of proportion, as if made for giants.  Wires of ever color hung everywhere, water dripped constantly somewhere down the halls, and scraps of broken metal littered the ground everywhere, along with moss, boulders and dead leaves.  

"What the hell is this gibberish?"  Richards asked, shining his lamp on a wall of the thing.  On the wall were faded yellow scrawling.

"Looks like writing," Steel said.

"Let's see what else this thing holds," Ivan said, as they started walking down the corridor.

"I'd like to get a picture of this, if you two gentlemen don't mind," Steel said, pointing at the writing.

"What ever," Richards mumbled, staring at everything he could.  Steel quickly rushed back outside and grabbed his camera equipment, and set about getting it ready.  Finally, he held up the flash pan, and took a photo.

The bright flash of light ricocheted off the ancient walls, lighting up the whole room for a split second.  He adjusted the lenses of the camera, trying to get some more detail in.  Then, took another photo.

The flash lit up the whole hall again.  This time, when the hall returned to darkness, there was something different.  Steel herd the click that echoed of the walls behind him.  He spun around, dropping the flash pan which echoed off the metal floor.

"Hello?"  He called out.  "Colonel?  Sankwoski?"  No one answered him.  He swallowed a lump in his throat, and glanced around.  The only sounds he could here there the constant echoes of water dripping down somewhere down the halls.  He licked his dry lips, and mopped his sweating brow, then bent down to pick up the flash pan.

He screamed, falling backwards.  There, on the ground he was standing on, were two glowing red eyes.  They shone brighter than the sun it's self, filling the hall with an eerie red glow.

Suddenly, there was a rumbling sound, and the ground beneath Steel's feet shook like an earthquake.  But that wasn't possible.  There were no earthquakes in Australia.  He searched franticly around for the source, and screamed again, as a hand, followed by an arm, rose out form the ground.

He scrambled back further, until he back up against a wall.  He watched in sheer terror as the giant hand flexed, then, the eyes rose, showing a head attached to it.  Steel flung his arms up in front of his face in fear, as he screamed out for Richards and Ivan.

Then, the ground gave way, as a torso, then a waist rose, followed by another arm.  This one had the biggest artillery cannon Steel had ever seen attached to it.  The only one he'd seen that was at least an equal was attached to a battle ship.

Then, the boulders and rocks Steel were standing on, were tossed about, as a pair of legs kicked out, and made themselves visible.

Suddenly, the giant metal creature began to speak.  Nothing Steel knew or understood, just high pitched squealing sounds like rusty metal and oil less gears grinding and clicks.  Steel was as white as a ghost; he couldn't speak, as the creature staggered to its feet.  It was well over 40 feet tall.

Its eyes glowed brightly, lighting up the room.  It was white and light gray, with an odd shaped helmet on its head.  It was then, that Steel saw the dark purple symbol on its chest.  Like a face of the devil it's self.

As it continued to screech, Steel still managed to make out only one word.  A word he couldn't understand, but knew what it meant.  It meant the creature's name.

Megatron.

*******


	2. The Decepticons

"Would ya get a look at this thing!"  Richards said, shining his lamp on the gargantuan throne in the center of the room they were in.  "Who do ya suppose sat in that monstrosity?  Goliath?"

"I wouldn't be surprise," Ivan replied, shining his lamp of the throne.  "Everything in this place seems to be made for giants."

"I never did like the idea of looking up at anyone," Richards said, shining his lamp around.  His grip tightened on the Winchester.

"Don't worry, Colonel," Ivan said, drawing his free hand across the throne, at least two inches of dust came of, which he shock free with disgust.  "I do believe who ever once lived here, is long gone, much like the dinosaurs."

Richards suddenly had an idea.  "You don't suppose that them Dion's…?"

"Impossible," Ivan snorted.  "If they were this intelligent, we would've found examples of their civilization when we found their bones."

"That's a relief."  Richards replied, shining his lamp down into a huge pit.  It was deep, about 60 feet down.  There was another giant seat, but not as big as the throne, along with the most old looking desk.  In fact, there were a row of them, stretching along towards…

He froze, and turned to Ivan.  "IVAN!!!"  He shouted out loud.

Ivan spun around, his hand on his holster, "What?"  He cried out.

"You'd better come see this."  Ivan hurried over, shining his lamp down to the spot Richards was.  There, sprawled across the floor below, lay a giant man of iron.  It was the weirdest creature both men had ever seen.  It was at least 35 to 40 feet tall, with huge wings.  There were what looked like large poles attached to its arms, and even though it's colours were faded; the thing was red and white, with some blue here and there.

"That's one ugly look'n Martian," Richards said, running the lamp over its black head.  Its face was screwed up in a look that Ivan thought remarkably resembled pain.  

"Well, he's definitely big enough to walk around here," Ivan said, looking all around.  "But I wonder…"

There train of thought was derailed as a high-pitched scream filled the air.  Both men turned in the direction of the scream, aiming their weapons.  "That was Steel!"  Richards shouted.  Then, the whole ship began to vibrate.

"What the devil is going on!?"  Ivan shouted out.

"Come on!"  Richards cried out, and they took off, racing back the way they came.  Their boots clanged on the metal floor as they ran, echoing all around the halls.  Finally they rounded the hall towards the entrance they'd come in thought, and came to a screeching halt.

There, before them, stood a towering iron giant.  Taller than the one they'd just recently found, it clung to the side of the wall, as if in trouble, then, it began to slowly gain balance, as it reared up to it's full height.

"Bozhemoi!"  Ivan whispered in horror.  Richards jaw dropped, and he nearly dropped his lamp.  Through it's legs, they saw Steel cowering up against a wall of boulders and rocks.  He saw the men, and shot them a frantic look. 

"SHOOT IT!!!"  He screamed.

The Winchester was up against Richards shoulder before he even knew it.  He fired, worked the lever, and fire again.  Shot after shot pinged off its iron hide, until the rifle clicked empty.

The creature paused, and then slowly, turned to face the two men, rusty metal, squealing as it did so.  Ivan whipped out his pistol, and took aim, but didn't fire, as both he and Richards slowly backed off.

"Ya said we had lots of explosives, right?"  Richards whispered to Ivan, not taking his eyes of the metal monster.

"That's right," Ivan whispered back, "But they're outside, and we're in here, and that thing is blocking the only exit."

"Then we'd better find 'nother one."

"LOOK OUT!!!"  They were distracted long enough that they didn't see the iron giant reaching for them.  Steel's galvanized shriek alerted them, and they turned to see the huge metal hand, coming towards them.

"Jesus!"  Richards shouted, and then he and Ivan turned around and bolted.

"Get out of here, Steel!"  Ivan shouted back at the man, as they tore off down the tunnel.  "We'll draw its attention!"  He then turned his gun around, and fired two shots at the creature's head.

Steel nodded and rushed for the exit, not bothering for his camera, which lay on the ground, not far away from the metal monster, who was perusing the two feeling men.  Steel clambered up the rocks and metal, slipping a bit, as he reached the top.  He turned back, to see the creature on its knees, while Ivan and Richards were no longer in sight, the sounds of their boots echoing off the metal floor vanishing down the hall.  

Steel grinned, then took two steps towards the opening, and screamed as he suddenly was yanked backwards.  Steel could only watch in shock, as the exit began rapidly moving away.  

The giant uttered no sound, as it lifted Steel up to its face, holding him by the back of his jacket.  Steel struggled in mid-air, kicking and waving his arms about.  He struggled in vain against the immense strength of the monsters fingers as it held him.  His eyes were transfixed on the glowing red eyes.   
    

 "Please, have mercy," he begged, frightened out of his wits. "Don't kill me! Oh God, Richards, Snakowski!  Anybody, please help me...!"  
  


His heart lurched in his chest, as all of a sudden, a small cannon popped out from the left side of the creatures head.  Then, a tight beam of green light, blasted Steel from head to toe.  Steel cringed, expecting death.

But it didn't come.  He opened his eyes, to see the green beam moving up and down his body, slowly.  It felt strange, like bathing in the warm morning glow of sunlight.  Then, the beam disappeared, and the cannon vanished back inside the things head.  Suddenly, Steel realized he'd been holding his breathe, and let out a loud gasp for air.

Then, the creature spoke.  In pure English.

"English!"  It said in a voice that sounded metallic, and hollow.  Like someone speaking through a metal pipe.  "You speak, English!"

"Yes," Steel said automatically.  "Please, don't kill me!"  He held up his hands before his face in a futile gesture.  

"Shut up, worm!"  The thing snarled.  It then looked at Steel from all angles, as if assessing him.  "Amazing, such a thing like you could arise to dominance of an entire planet."  Then, it smiled.  "Fascinating."

Suddenly, the eyes dimmed fore just a second, and the creature stagger, losing its grip on Steel, dropping him.  Steel was only about ten feet in the air above the nearest ground, and although he was winded, he was not seriously injured.  

"Are you okay?"  He asked, confused at his sudden worry for the metal giant.

"I need… Energy!"  It growled, clutching its midsection, then lowered down onto one knee.  Its eyes began to flicker.  "The Bio Scan I per-per-performed on you seriously drained what little b-b-b-b-backup power I have leeeeeeft."  Its voice stuttered like a skipping record.

Now, as Steel watched in writhe about helplessly, he no longer felt afraid, but curios.  This thing held him like a man might a bug, yet now, it was as powerful as a newborn baby.  He chocked his head to one side and studied it.

"Help me Flesh c-reature!"  The giant pleaded, "I need energyyyyyy!"

"How?"  Steel asked.

A shaky hand reached up to its metal chest, and pushed it.  There was a soft click, and it swung open, like a pair of double doors.  Then a metal cover flipped up, and reveled the most wonders thing Steel had ever seen.  It looked like a spare of pure light.  It fizzled and cracked, like a fire, while odd shapes and colours inside morphed continually about.

The creature then reached up to the top right hand corner of its insides, and pushed on a small button.  There was another soft click, and a small cylinder popped out.  It then reached over, and dropped it into Steel's hand.  It was about the size of a large bottle of wine.  

"*Garble,*" the creature stuttered.  "This is *Garble*  Use it on the *Garble* screen."

"What?"  Steel said.  The sentence the giant had just said was filled with static and squealing.  "I didn't understand a word you said."

"I can't t-t-talk to you about thiiiiiings you don't have-ve-ve words for!"  It growled, growing impatient.  "Just goooooo to the giant window in front of-of-of-of the throne down the hallllll, and place-ce-ce the cylinder in a small reeeeeed hole below the-the-the-he-he window!"

"Ummm," Steel muttered, looking from the cylinder to the giant.

"GO FLESH CREATURE!!"  IT roared, it's voice echoing off the halls, making Steel cover his ears.  "I need energy-ergy, NOW!"

Steel quickly stumbled away, keeping his eyes on the thing, as he hurried down the corridor.  As he jogged down the hall, he couldn't help but glance over at the thing.  It was acting like an athlete short of breath, after a marathon.

That was odd.  The machine was acting as though… it were alive.

He turned back and shook his head.  That was possible, machines weren't alive, and they were mealy tools that mankind used.  But this thing had too many qualities that made it seem almost…  Human.  He stopped jogging, and turned to look back down the corridor.  He couldn't see the creature anymore.

The idea that had just gone through his head was ludicrous.  Thinking machines, with independent thought, emotion, and pain?  No, that wasn't possible, only God bestrode intelligence on man, not machine.  

Suddenly, another thought floated into his mind.

"Hey," he said, turning back to the direction he was heading, "Where did everybody go?"

***

Ivan and Steel had stopped running, and lay against a wall, trying to catch their breath.

"Do ya think *Gasp* Steel got away *Gasp*?"  Richards asked between gasps.

"Let's hope so, *Gasp*!"  Ivan replied, looking ever so slightly around the corner to see if that iron giant was still following them.  "I wonder *Gasp* were it went?"

"Who bloody cares!"  Richards replied, undoing the pouch at his belt, and then started loading more rounds into the Winchester.  "It's gone!  Let's keep it that way."

"You know," Ivan sighed, pointing at the gun, "I don't think that's going to do you any good."

"But it makes me feel safer," Richards replied, as he loaded in the last bullet, and then pumped the handle, loading the first round into place.  "So, how the hell are we gonna get out of here with that infernal machine guard'n the exit?"  

Both of the men had thrown away their lamps when they led the giant iron man away from Steel.  Now, they were relying on their eyesight to guide them.  Hardly any light was inside this thing, but they were slowly adjusting their vision.  Still it was almost impossible to see anything.

"Its awfully quite out there," Ivan muttered, scanning the corridors for any sign of movement.

"Too quite fer my like'n," Richards said softly.

Slowly, they both edged around the corner, and looked both ways.  There was nothing that they could see.  Listening carefully, they began to move in the direction they'd been running in, away from the creature, hoping to find another way out. 

They lost track of time, as they made their way through the labyrinth of the ship.  The tunnels kept on going, leading deeper underground.

"Mother of God," Richards whispered, "How big is this thing?"

"It's almost the size of a city," Ivan whispered back.  They turned a corner, and came out onto a catwalk, that over looked what looked like a storage bay.  It seemed to stretch on forever.

"Look!"  Richards cried out, pointing down to the bottom, "There's more of those overgrown iron men down there!"

Sure enough, down below, lay six giant figures, all scattered about.  They were an odd green colour, and most of them looked pretty banged up.  Wires hung outside them, and bits of metal littered the ground near their shattered bodies.  

Suddenly, there was a loud echoing click, then the build up of electricity.  Both men looked about franticly, as the humming built up, then there was loud click, followed by another, and another.

"Lights!"  Ivan cried out.  Richards turned and looked down the corridor they'd come.  Sure enough, a strange soft white light was making its way down the hall.  There were what looked like glass panels in the ceiling, and one by one, they gave off a soft, but bright white light.

With each click, a panel gave off light, racing its way along the top of the corridor, passing over the two men, and passed off down the corridor.  Some of the glass panel's were cracked or broken, and no light shone at all, while some flickered like a firefly.

"What the bloody hell is going on!?"  Richards gasped.  "What the hell is this thing!?!"

"Calm down, Colonel!"  Ivan said, his voice was shaky, betraying his frightened tone.  "Getting all panicky won't help us at all."

"Then what will," Richards snapped.  "I'll tell you what this place is, it's the devils home on Earth, that's what it is!"

"So are you saying that we should destroy that iron giant with our faith?"  There was a hint of sarcasm in the mans voice.

"It's worth a try," Richards snapped back, catching the sarcasm.  "Unless you've got any more bright ideas!"

"Don't try and blame all this on me!"  Ivan snarled, waving a finger just under the Colonel's nose.  "I didn't see you objecting to exploring inside this thing!"

"If y're look'n fer a fight, mate, then I'm more then will'n to give ya one!"  Richards snarled, unbuttoning his jacket, and shrugging it off.  Ivan just cocked a fist, and glared a challenge.

Before the two men could trade blows, they were suddenly interrupted when a low vibration began from somewhere deep inside the thing.  It grew louder, and louder, until the whole room began to shake.

Both men were thrown off their feet to the ground.  

"What in the name of God is go'in on now!?"  Richards hollered.

"I don't care," Ivan shouted back, picking himself up off the floor, "And I don't want to know.  Let's just get the fuck out of here!"

"Wait fer me!"  Richards cried out, picking up his jacket, and rifle, following the man down the corridor.

***

Steel walked into the huge chamber room.  In the centre of the room, sat a large throne, most likely reserved for that huge iron giant.  He looked at the cylinder in his hands.  He then looked up at the huge glass window in front of him.  It was cracked, and black.

"Some view," Steel muttered, as he walked along, passed the throne, towards the giant window.  There lay large assortments of desk, that were too high for Steel.  He had to climb on an equally large chair, just to get up there.  Once up on the desks, he found all manners of buttons, switches, dials, and levers.

It was incredible.  So incredible, that he nearly forgot what he was supposed to do.  He then walked over to the center of the desk, and found the small hole in the desk.  It was just the right size for the cylinder.

He then placed it in the hole, and pushed it all the way in.  It gave a click, and something awoke.  There were several more clicks, followed by a slow and steady humming build up.  Finally, it broke, and there was another loud click.  

Then, things began lighting up like day.  Beeping noises, humming noises, and metallic whines could be herd.  Steel was nearly thrown off balance by it all, that he almost tripped and fell.

Then, the giant window came to life.  There was a sudden loud beep, then that strange writing appeared.  It scrolled out like a typewriter, and then began doing something else.  There was a bar, with a series of bricks inside it.  As time passed, the brocks grew closer to one end of the bar, as if building up to something.  

When it was full, there was another loud beep, and the cylinder popped out with a soft click.  Steel scratched his head, wondering just exactly what he'd done, but he reached down, pulled it out, and jumped down from the desk.

"Wow!"  He muttered looking around.  He hadn't really taken any notice before, but the whole room had been lit up like day.  It was gigantic, almost the size of Parliament house, back in London.  Here and there, a few more giant iron men lay, but these were not as tall as the one he'd just meet.  

There were six of them all up.  All of them had strange metal wings.  Though three of them had their wings pointing up, while the other three had their wings pointing down.

Still looking about, Steel made his way back to the iron man with the cylinder that seemed a little heavier than before.

The creature was lying on it's back, like a dying soldier with a chest wound.  It gave Steel the impression of a man gasping for air.  It's eyes where very dim, and it barely found the strength to turn its head towards him as he came back around the corner.  

"Hurry…"  It gasped.  "Place… It… In…"  It drew out with a sigh, as it's head rolled to one side.  

"Okay, okay!"  Steel said, as he walked over to it, and hesitantly, climbed up its leg, then walked along its torso to the open chest.  Reaching out, he carefully inserted the cylinder into it's original spot, and pushed it all the way in, until it clicked.

Almost immediately, the creature's eyes shone brightly, and it smiled.  It reached up with one hand, and closed its chest, barely avoiding Steel.

"Hey," he cried out, as he jumped to the floor below.  "Watch what you're doing!  Is that any way of thanking me?"

"In your case, Flesh Creature," It replied, standing to its feet.  "Letting you live is reward enough."

Steel gasped, his face losing its colour.  The thing had threatened his life?  What exactly had he just awakened?  "What are you?"  He asked.

"I am Megatron!"  It replied.  "I am of a race of alien machines called, the Transformers."  It then cocked its head, looking at Steel.  "What are you?"

"I am Sir Gregory Robert Steel.  My species is called, Homo sapiens.  But Human for short."

"Human?"  The creature tired the word on it's own tongue.  "A word that means nothing to me."  It rose to its feet, flexed its arms, and then looked around.  "How much time has passed?"

"I- I'm sorry, but I don't know the answer to that question."  Steel replied hesitantly.  Megatron reached out, and drew his metal fingers along the moss covered walls, then bent down and inspected the dead leaves that littered the floor near the large hole that they'd used to enter.

"What is this?"  It asked.

"M-moss," Steel answered with a stammer.  "It takes a while for it to grow.

"How long is a while?"

"A very long time, the word is slang."  Megatron was silent, before turning his head towards the corridor that Steel had gone down before.

"Maybe the *Garble* will know."  Megatron muttered, then turned and began to walk down the corridor that lead towards the giant room with the large window.  His giant metal limbs whining and creaking with every step.

"Wait!"  Steel cried out, following, "What will know?  I didn't catch that!"  Megatron ignored him, as he continued walking.  Suddenly, Steel stopped dead in his tracks, and turned around.  Why was he following Megatron -- a creature who had just threatened his life -- when the exit lay unguarded.  He grinned, and started jogging for the hole.

"Don't leave so soon!"  He stopped and turned, to see Megatron with his hands on his hips, grinning down at him.  "I still have need for you, Flesh Creature."

"J-Just getting my c-camera," Steel lied, pointing at it.

"Leave it," Megatron snarled, turning around again.  "You can pick it up on the way out.

The way out?  He was going to let him go?  Steel almost let out a squeal of joy, as he quickly hurried after Megatron.  He would live after all.

***

The sounds of boots banging on the metal floor, echoed up and down the corridors, as Richards and Ivan jogged along.  They were constantly looking around, trying to soak in, every bit of detail they possibly could.

Those strange white lights now lit everything up, showing the vast interior of the thing they were inside.  Although some of them were flickering, which greatly annoyed the two men.

"Okay, let's stop this!"  Richards said, slowing down to a walk, then stopping all together.  "We've been at this fer nearly an hour now, and all we've managed to do, is get more lost than before."

"For once, I'm agreeing with you, Colonel," Ivan said, looking back down the corridor they'd just come down.  "This thing could go on for ever, it could be days, maybe even weeks, before we find another exit."

"So, ya think we should try fer the original one?"

Ivan nodded.  "It's probably gone now, and knowing Steel, he's probably half way back to Brisbane by now."  He looked down at the revolver in his hand.  "Though the chances of that thing having left are minimal, there is still the possibility that it's no longer alive.  It didn't look to healthy when it chased us."

"That's a chance I'm will'n to take," Richards said, as they started back down the corridor they'd just come from.

They quickened their pace, not caring for the racket they made.  As they came closer to the exit, they slowed down, making sure to keep the noise they made at a minimum.  Then, they carefully peaked around the corridor.

"I don't believe it," Ivan gasped, "It's gone!"

"And so is Steel," Richards said, "And might I suggest we do the same thing."

"My thoughts exactly," Ivan said, as they carefully climbed up the lose boulders, and outside.  Once outside, Richards and Ivan both blinked, and adjusted their eyes to the sudden darkness that greeted them.

"God," Richards said, "I've forgotten how dark it was out here."

"Let's not wait around for daylight, shall we?"  Ivan asked, as they clambered down towards their packs.  When they got there, Richards noticed something.

"Hey, Steel's pack is gone."  He said.  

"I guess that means he got away."  Ivan said with a shrug.

"Figures that English man would leave us all alone out here."  Richards scoffed, hoisting up his pack, and along with Ivan, they both set out, back up the cliff, towards the trail.  As they reached the top, Ivan couldn't help but glance down at the darkened pit, which now obscured the view of whatever it was down there.

"What are we going to tell everybody?"  Ivan asked.

"Let's burn that bridge when we get back to civilization," Richards said, hoisting his pack onto his shoulders, "I'm more concerned with what Steel's going to tell everyone."

"That's if he makes it back at all," Ivan said, picking up his own pack.  "After all, that man's idea of an adventure involves the backyard, an umbrella and a nice cool drink."

They both laughed.

A Few Hours Ago… 

Steel walked just behind Megatron, as they re-entered the room with the giant blank window.  Megatron was having trouble walking straight.  His limbs seemed to creak and groan, like rusty metal, and he was leaking a foul smelling liquid behind him with every step. 

"Ummm," Steel muttered from behind Megatron, "Are you feeling okay?"  He paused, questioning the reason for asking a machine if it was _feeling_ all right.

"My Exo-Structure is 76.405% damaged," Megatron replied, pausing before the throne, and slowly, easing himself into it with creaking joints.  "The power which you re-supplied me with is sufficient, but not enough."  He paused as if to catch his breath.  "I've been in a prolonged *Garble* shut-down.  I'm going to have to undergo drastic repairs."

"Oh," was all Steel said, as he stood back.  Megatron pushed a button on his throne, and the blank window came to life.  There was a low click, followed by the window suddenly becoming a blizzard of black and white snow.  Then, the windows showed a flickering image of the face that was on Megatron's chest.

Then, that bizarre squealing and whining sound that Megatron had made before filled the room like the voice of God.  It startled Steel, and he nearly fell over with shock.  Megatron replied in the same squealing and whining and clicking noises as the voice.

All of a sudden, the ceiling above Megatron opened up with a whir, and a large sphere lowered down, to just hover a few feet above Megatron's head.

"What on Earth is th…"  Was all Steel managed before eight spider-like legs popped out from the underbelly of the thing, and began probing Megatron.  Tight beams of light began to bath his body, while the spider-like legs started literally pulling Megatron apart.  

Steel gaped in horror, taking a few steps back, as he watched as one leg ripped of a section of Megatron's metal skin, then to his surprise, it attacked it with what could only be described as small welding torches, until the section of the metal skin looked brand new, then placed it back on Megatron's arm, welding it back into place.

Other pieces were so badly damaged, that the legs withdrew back inside the sphere for a few moments, to return with a new piece.  Then, to Steel's horror, it began to rip Megartron's body to pieces, taking of his legs, his arms, even his head, to reshape it, turning him inside out, then putting him back together.  Eventually, it finished its job, withdrawing all it's legs, and proceeded back into the ceiling.  

Megatron stood.  He was a new machine.  His body shined like silver, and he looked more dangerous than before, so much, that Steel actually tried to sneak away.

"I thought I told you to stay put!"  Megatron snapped, without turning to look at Steel.  "I told you before, I still need you!"

"I…I… Was j-just…"  Steel dropped of, and cocked his head to one side, as he scrutinized the iron giant before him.  "You look… different."  He said.

Megatron's arms were bumpy and ridged, while his upper torso was more rounded, like a cylinder, and his legs, reminded him of the handles of a gun.  

"That machine you witnessed before was a *Garble*" Megatron replied.  "It not only repaired my Exo-structure, but it also adapted my transformation mode as well, adapting it to your native weapons."

  
"Trans-formation mode?"  Steel asked in surprise.  "What do you mean, Transformation?"

"For a dominate spices, you sure are dim-witted," Megatron snapped, turning back to the giant window.  "I told you before, the name of my species, roughly translates into Transformers.  We are machines that transform into other machines, Flesh Creature."

"My God," Steel whispered, finally understanding it all.  "You are the perfect killing machine."

"Thank you," Megatron said, and then, his lips pulled back across metal teeth in what Steel thought insanely resembled a human smile.  He jerked his head back at the humanness of this creature.  "We Decpticons take pride in comments like that."

"Decpti --- Wait a minute!"  Steel cried out, pointing at Megatron.  "I thought you said you were a Transformer!?!"

"There are two different types of Transformers, Flesh Creature," Megatron said, holding up two fingers like a 'V.'  There are Decpticons, and there are Autobots."

"What is the difference between the two?"  Steel asked.

"The Decpticons were the military side of the Transformers, while the Autobots were the workers, the laborers," his eyes dimmed, as if they were narrowing, "And the leaders."

"Y-you don't like them, do you," Steel said in a shaky voice.

"No!"  Megatron roared, slamming his fist down on the armrest of the throne.  The sound echoed through out the empty room like a small explosion, making Steel jump.  "And that is why we rebelled!"

"Then what happened?"  Steel asked.  He ad to confess, it was getting interesting.

"We Decpticons then unleashed a blitzkrieg on unimaginable destruction, destroying and conquering all in our path.  We were almost insight of our victory, with sixty percent of the planet under our rule.  But we got careless."  He turned away from Steel, looking over at the giant window.  "During our opening rampage across the planet, the Autobots had been merely letting us win, building up their own army.  We never realized until it was too late, that they were merely trading space for time.  On the verge of victory, our armies were in sight of the Autobot capital, the City State of Iacon.  The Autobots unleashed their new army, driving us back.  However, they'd traded too much space for time, and they no longer had the recourses to finish us off, thus a great stalemate descended over the planet, which still endured till the time of my departure."

"Why did you abandon your planet?"  Steel asked.

"Abandoned!?!"  Megatron roared, leaning closer to Steel, making him wince.  "Decpticons don't 'abandon' anything, Flesh Creature!"  Its face came within inches of Steels, making the man sweet nervously.  "Our war with the Autobots consumed an astronomical amount of energy, and recourses."  Megatron calmed down, and moved away, to Steels relief.  "Our planet was fast becoming an empty husk.  An elite team of Autobots took the last of their great battle ships, and went in search of alternate sources of energy.  We Decpticons quickly found out, and followed them, with the intention of finding this energy source, and stealing it for ourselves."

"And that's when you came across Earth?"  Steel asked.

"Upon our discovery of Earth, we realized that we could use it's raw natural resources to win the war," Megatron's eyes dimmed again.  "However, our ambush was faulty, and the Autobots discovered our presence, much too early.  We had the upper hand on the Autobots, and if our ambush had been a success, we surly would have been able to board the Autobot Battleship, and defeat the Autobots with ease."

The machines words held some regret about the memory he'd resurrected.  Megatron paused only slightly, as if pondering events that could have been.  "I truly believe if we'd managed to board the Autobots vessel, time would've taken a different corse."

"If your ambush failed, what happened?"  Steel asked, "Did these… Autobots win?"

"No," Megatron said, shaking his head slightly.  "They crashed like we did," he paused, "Well, at least I believe they did.  When the Autobots saw us coming, they opened fired on us.  Our ships were evenly matched, so it was nothing more than a toe-to-toe slugging match, both sides blasting away at each other at point blank range, until the both ships faltered.  The path of our battle, took us into this planet's orbit.  While we shot each other to pieces, our engines were destroyed, and the gravitational pull finally ended the battle.  The last we saw of the Autobot ship, was it too, falling into this planet's atmosphere."

"So, were the Autobots destroyed?"  Steel asked.

"I don't believe it so," Megatron replied.  "If I survived, as well as my ship, then its most likely the Autobots did as well."

"May I ask, what are your intentions now that you are working again?"

"My original mission, Flesh Creature," Megatron said.  "Resorting energy to Cybertron, and defeating the Autobots!"

"But, if your so powerful, why do you still require me?"  Steel asked, desperate to know why this Megatron wanted him around.

"I may be all powerful, but I have no desire to take on a world, or the Autobots, all by myself!  I need my army back on line, and in order to do that, I need energy!"

"So why don't you just take it?"

"I intend to," Megatron answered.  "But I need to keep a low profile for the moment, and in order to get energy, I need someone who knows that layout of the land.  Someone like you, Flesh Steel!"  

"Me?"  Steel was both surprised by the creatures use of his name, as well as his use for him.

"Yes," Megatron said.  "The repair *Garble* also altered my transformation mode.  Before, when you turned the *Garble* on, it also activated the *Garble* *Garble*  It *Garble* this planet, looking for energy, and also, recording information.  It adapted my form to suit this natural environment, so I could blend in without discovery."

"Amazing."  Steel muttered, though he'd missed most of what was said.

"And now," Megatron said, getting up, and walking back towards the exit they'd come through, "Let's get going!  I want to go to the nearest source of energy for your cities."

"Of cause… Megatron?"  When the creature didn't correct him, he continued, "But if I help you, can you guarantee me some sort of investment?"

Megatron paused, and then turned to face Steel.  Steel shuddered.  Had he pushed Megatron too far?  "Very well," Megatron replied.  "When I scanned that puny protoplasmic puddle you call a brain for your language, I also scanned your senses, what you like, and dislike, and I noticed that you have an affection for a worthless yellow metal called gold."

"Gold!?"  Steel said, his ears perking up.

"Ahh, you indeed like it," Megatron said.  "If you aid me, Flesh Steel, then gold will be your reward.  As much as you want."

"Deal!"  Steel almost shouted out.  He caught himself, and nervously twiddled his fingers.  "I accept your terms, Megatron," he replied, in a calm manner.  "I shall take you to a source of power, and energy." 

**WASHINGTON DC: The Next Day…**

Theodore Roosevelt sighed with boredom, as he drummed his fingers idly on the desk.  He licked his dry lips, as he peered out the open window towards the Capitol in the distance.  The cool breeze blowing through ruffled the curtains ever so slightly, but did little to cool the man.  

He'd long since traded his khaki military uniform for civilian clothes, while beside him, John Pershing sat, still dressed in his, reading a book.  Teddy sighed again, and lazily blew a strain of hair out of his eyes, then adjusted his glasses.

He then turned to say something to John, when the sound of footsteps approaching made him pause.  Both men turned to towards the set of double doors at other end of the room, and they opened, allowing four men to enter the room.

The first man he recognized as John Hay, the Secretary of State.  The other man was Russell Alger, the Secretary of War, the third, was John Long, Secretary of the Navy, and the fourth man, was very young, his age looked to be somewhere between 20-23.  He couldn't quite tell.  He wore a no uniform, just a white long sleeved shirt, with no tie, and black long pants with dark brown shoes. 

"Gentlemen," Hay said, as he entered the room, "First off, my apologies for keeping you waiting."

"That's alright, sir," Pershing replied, shaking the mans hand, "I'm used to being kept waiting."

"Well, forget the apologizes," Teddy answered, shaking Hay's hand.  "What's the ruckus about?"

"First off," Hay interrupted, pointing to the fourth, unknown man.  "Let me introduce to you, Captain Witwicky of the United States Secret Service."

"Please," He said, "Call me Spike."

"Pleasure," Teddy said, reaching out to shake the mans hand.  "Now, before you interrupt anymore, what's going on?"

Long reached into his suit case, and pulled out a folder.  "We received these about a week ago," he said, handing it to Teddy.  "To be honest, we're not really sure what it is, but the English government is taking this seriously, that they deployed six infantry divisions, and four artillery divisions to the area."

Teddy opened it up, and glared at the photo before him.  He opened his mouth to say something, but stop, and instead asked, "Six infantry divisions?"

"Yes sir," Spike answered.  Teddy passed the photo to John, who just grunted at it.

"What are the chances that this is a hoax?"  Teddy asked.

"Well, if it's a hoax," Alger said, crossing his arms, "The British Government are doing a damn great job at acting like its real.  They've increased military production by 15 percent, recruiting more soldiers, and speeding up their technological progress on something called 'The Dreadnaught.'"

"The what?"  John asked.

"Some kind of new battleship," Long answered, waving the question away with the flick of his wrist.  "That's all we know, but the point is, the British government is taking this seriously, and if they are, we should too."

"That's because this… thing, landed in their own backyard."  He then paused, and then asked, "Have you read War of the Worlds?"

Teddy nodded.  "It was a good book."  He replied.

Alger then took over.  "This thing has been the only one to arrive, but we believe more could… will come.  If that is the case, then they will have the United States as a future destination.  But at the moment, we can do nothing, but observe.  The British aren't letting anyone look at this thing, nor are they willing to confirm its existence.  We need to know what it is we are dealing with."

"McKinley has no idea what's going on, doesn't he?" Teddy asked with a raised eyebrow.

Hay shook his head.  "No," he answered.  "That's why we need your help.  We need someone like you to help back us up.  With your support, we can pull this off."

"I'm in!"  Teddy said with a great big smile.  "When do I leave for England?"  

The group looked horrified.  "You can't go!"  Alger said.  "You're too well known, Roosevelt, the idea of this mission is secrecy, and you are anything but a secret."

"Besides," Long said, pointing to Spike, "the Captain has been assigned for the mission.  We needed you to keep McKinley off our backs!" 

"Gentlemen," Teddy replied, "I did not cut short my visit home to act as a distraction to the president.  If there's a threat to my country, then I'm going to deal with it personally, even if it is Martian."  He crossed his arms in defense.  "Ether I go to England, or you don't get my support!"

"But going to England will compromise our mission," Long pointed out.  "You're too well known to just be, 'a face in the crowd,' Roosevelt.  You wouldn't be able to hide."  

"I have my own way of blending in, gentlemen," Teddy replied.  "I can still investigate this matter, and keep a low profile.  I don't object to the Captain or Pershing coming with me, but ether I go, or I won't cooperate."  He sat back down in his chair, and taped his foot.  "That's the deal, gentlemen, so what's it going to be."

All four men looked at each other, then back at Roosevelt.  "Very well, Roosevelt," Hay replied.  "But the moment you get into any trouble what so ever, or your mission is blown, you're on the next ship back to the States."

Teddy smiled that trademark grin of his, as he rose with the speed of a bullet, surprising Hay.  "Deal!" he said, shooting out his hand.

"So, Roosevelt," Long asked rubbing his chin, "Exactly how do you hope to blend in?"

"A friend of mine in Edinburgh has been bugging for the past few months to come to Scotland and give a few lectures at his university.  I do believe that now, after my spectacular charge up San Juan Hill with my Rough Riders, I'll have a few stories to tell.  If the English decide to check up on my story, I have a legitimate excuse.  I can be the distraction by Captain Witwicky while the English watch me, the Captain do his job without fear of discovery."

The group eyed each other again, and then Hay nodded.  "Very well, Roosevelt," he replied.  "You organize the trip to Edinburgh and the lectures, and we'll organize the rest."

**MOSCOW: Two Days Later…**

The mallet slammed with such force down on the gravel, it nearly broke.  Everyone in the auditorium quickly shut up.

"If this party is to be successful in attaining power, it must be ready to agree on the same ideals and goals!"  Vladimir Ulyanov snapped.  "Otherwise we shall, and will, see a split that will weaken our cause, and the only person who shall benefit from this will be the Czar!"

A few murmurs echoed around the room.  "But, Comrade Ulyanov…" a man started to say, when Vladimir held up a single finger to silence him.

"I told you before, Use our party code names so that Czar's secret police won't know who we are!"

"But comrade Lenin," the man said, obviously annoyed at the interruption, "What you are proposing is going against the true ideals of Marxists!  Power should be held by a party official that the people wish to elect!"

"And I've told you for the last time," Lenin snapped, banging his fist on the podium, "That will only lead to a corrupt capitalist society, where the party members will be more concerned on their voting promises, rather than their responsibilities!" 

Although it wasn't an invitation, arguing sprang up all around the auditorium once more, which quickly turned to shouting, as members tried to out do one another.  Lenin closed his eyes, and covered his ears as he gritted his teeth.

Oh, what he wouldn't give for order.

What everyone failed to notice was the shady looking figure, watching everyone from the dark shadows of the doorway with keen interest and a Hessian backpack slung over one shoulder.  Lenin then repeatedly slammed the hammer down, until everyone was silent again.

"If we can't have order, we won't make any progress!"  Lenin snapped, "Would it be too much to ask everyone to raise our hands if we wish to rebuttal?"  A few heads bobbed in approval.  "Fine," Lenin breath a sigh of relief, "Then maybe we can be out of here before evening falls."

A man with a short mustache raised his hand.  Lenin pointed at him with the mallet.  "The chairman recognizes party member Trotsky.  You may speak."  The man nodded, and stood up.

"I agree with the Chairman on this matter," he said, "To allow an elected Premier to be subjugated to democratic voting would surly bring the chaos that plagues the capitalist governments of the west," Trotsky spoke, "No gentlemen, the countries leader must be voted in by the party it's self, an educated man who has the knowledge and wisdom that will insure he will not abuse his power."

"Here, here!"  A few men cheered.

Across the room, a short balding man with a long goatee shot up like a rocket, with his arm almost vertical in the air, and a stern look plastered on his face.  

Lenin rolled his eyes.  "The chairman recognizes party member Vasiliev," he said, waving the hammer in the man's direction.  "You may speak."

"Chairman," he said, "I do not agree with Member Trotsky on this matter," he turned to face the gathered party members, "in a society that is willing to grant one man that much power is sure not to last very long.  Has history not written, and proven, that absolute power, corrupts absolute?"  The party members gathered on his side of the room cheered loudly, while members on the other side, just glared at them.

Another man raised his arm.  Lenin just nodded to him, and the man stood up.  "But party members would make sure, that the man chosen to be the leader would be the perfect choice, I mean, even we, the educated can tell the difference between right and wrong.  With proper guidance, so will our posterity!"

Another man waved his arm back and forth, and Lenin nodded to him.  "What if one man rises through the ranks, becomes corrupted by that power, couldn't he just turn the party into a dictatorship and rule within the lope-holes of the rules?  Can't you learn from history?  The same thing happened with the Romans, and I will guarantee you gentlemen, the same thing will happen to us!"

"Then if the man was that corrupt, he would never get into the party in the first place!"  Another man shouted out from across the room.

"You tell that to Julius Caesar!"

"All party members are educated men, no one in their right mind would destroy everything Karl Marx hoped to achieve!"

"All human beings are greedy, if you give them more than enough, they'll always want more!"  And with that, the room erupted into anarchy once more.   

Lenin rubbed his forehead with his palms and groaned.  It looked like they would never get out of here.  He then pulled out a pocket watch, and glanced at the time.  3:45.  The shouting was getting louder as Lenin brought his hammer down with the sound of a gunshot.

"Since we can't come to any agreement yet, I suggest that we agern for the day, and re-agern tomorrow when we've all had a decent night's sleep."

"But chairman…"

"Meeting agerned!"  Lenin snapped, and slammed the hammer down.  With that, he gathered up his papers, and hastily shoved them into his leather brief case, and then buckling it shut, he hurried out the door, and into the west wing behind the stage.

Oh, he just had to get out of there, it was driving him crazy.  If things kept up like this, he would split the party, and that seemed like the most logical thing to do, after all, he agreed with the majority, and they were the ones who wanted the party to elect the countries leader.

"Comrade Lenin?"  The voice sounded hollow.  Lenin froze.  He knew everyone in the party, but this person was different.  Slowly he turned around.  The figure behind him was dressed like a peasant, with a brown jacket, a lose fitting shirt, and faded long pants with boots.  He had short brown hair, and appeared to be young, perhaps 19 years old.

"Who wants to know?"  Lenin asked.  For all he knew, this guy was probably a member of the Czar's secret police.  The young man stepped forward, extending his own hand.

"Just a friend."  He replied.  Lenin looked from the out stretched hand, back to the young mans face.

"I have too many friends as it already is," Lenin snapped, and turned around to leave.  Suddenly, he heard the sound of a hammer cocking.  He froze and gritted his teeth.  Inside, he said, 'I knew it.'

"Please, don't leave, I insist!"  Lenin turned around to confront the man, and to his surprise, he not only saw a gun, but also a small rolled up parchment tied up with a waxed seal.  He cocked his head as he looked at the parchment.  "I am sorry to pull a gun on you," the man said, "But I really think you should here what I have to say."

"What dose this have to do with me?"  He asked, eyeing the parchment.  The man just smiled.

"I am a recent member of your secret little party," was his reply.  "I used to belong to another secret organization, but they were too pro-Czar.  So I left to join your cause.  But before I left…" he held out the parchment towards Lenin, "I brought something with me.  Something that could very well be used in our war against the oppressive Czar!"

"What could a peasant like you, possibly hope to offer that could overthrow the longest reigning family in history!?!"

"Why don't you see for yourself?"  He held it closer.

Curiosity got the better of him.  Lenin put down his case, and reaching out, took the parchment from the young man, and opened it up with a knife.  He opened it up, and a photo fell out.  He bent down, and picked it up.  His eyes widened, and he turned to face the young man.  "What is this?"  He demanded.  "Tricks!?!  Games!?!"

"It's no game, I assure you!"  The young man replied.  "That's as real as you and me."

Lenin looked at the photo.  It was of a giant man made of iron.  He was big and bulky, with small exhaust stacks on each shoulder.  He stood before two men dressed in Orthodox robes, and a man who looked like a monk.  The giant was looking down at the three men with what insanely looked like curiosity.  Its face was the most strangest thing he'd ever seen.  It had two pointy spikes on ether side of its head, with a visor where it's mouth should've been.

Lenin quickly switched from the photo, to the parchment, and began to read what was written there, his eyes growing wider with every passing paragraph.  Finally, he lowered both parchment and photo, and stared off into space.  "Incredible," he muttered.  "Absolutely incredible."

"I told you so," the young man replied.  "With these giant iron men, we can destroy the Czar and establish a truly Marxist society."

"If these…" he paused, reading the parchment again, "Auto – bots, are capable of doing what you say they can, then we wouldn't be able to stop at Russia, we could bring about a world wide revolution!"

"My thoughts exactly!"  The young man said, smiling.  Lenin grinned, and held out his hand.  The young man took it.

"This truly is a red letter day," Lenin said as he shook hands.  "You have brought me the greatest news I've had in," he paused, "Well, far too long, young man.  Tell me, party member, what is your name?"

"My real name, is Iosif Vissarionovich Djugashvili," he then shrugged, "But I don't have a party code name yet."

"Well, I do believe you're going to need one now, Iosif," Lenin said.  "Any name you want."

Iosif rubbed his chin, as he though long and hard.  "I've always considered myself a strong man, a man of steel."

"Very well then, Iosif," Lenin replied, "that shall be your party name!  Stalin!"

***


	3. Matrix Revolutions

**THE WESTERN SIBERIAN PLANES:21 Days Ago…**

"My, God!"  Rasputin whispered.  

The prist turned and smiled at him.  "Welcome, Brother Rasptuin.  Welcome to the Ark!"

"The… Ark?"  Rasputin asked, in awe.  "That… thing has a name?"

"That thing, as you so bluntly put it, is the one hope that could save mankind, Brother Rasputin, from the Evil ones forces."

"What is that thing?"  Rasputin asked, still in awe.  "I have never seen anything like it before in my entire life!"

"Long ago," the prist began, "not long after God created the Earth, the Guardians arrived, and destroyed the Evil one and his army of darkness.  Once beaten, the Evil was flung to the furthers corner of the world, where he lies, imprisoned.  The guardians then went to sleep, keeping an ever-watchful eye over the world.  If the Evil ever arose again, the guardians would follow, and stop him."

"How do you know all this?"  Rasputin demanded.

"These are the stories that have been passed down through the ages, Brother Rasputin," the prist replied.  "Ever since the brotherhood was first born, in order to protect the guardians as they lay dormant, awaiting the day when they would be needed again."

"That doesn't explain anything," Rasputin replied, somewhat agitated. 

"A thousand years before the birth of Christ," the prist started, "Our brotherhood's founding father, St. Peter, found this cave while trying to take refuge during a storm.  He wondered this huge cavern, and discovered the Ark."  His hand swept over the huge object.  "Upon investigation, the Ark spoke to him, and allowed him to enter the great tomb.  There, he discovered the guardians, cast into a deep slumber, awaiting the day when the evil one would once again rise, and protect mankind."

"Where did this thing come from?"  Rasputin asked.

"The havens," the prist replied.  "It was sent by God."

"Amazing," Rasputin muttered.  "How are we supposed to awaken the guardians?"  He then asked.

"Come," the prist, answered, as his aid helped him towards the giant iron tomb, "We will take you to them."  Rasputin was hesitant at first, but made his may towards the thing, making sure to keep just behind the old prist.

They walked down a specially made stone path, that lead towards a giant set of double doors, that seemed so forbidding.

Suddenly, a small hole in the thing opened up, and what looked like a telescope came out, and turned towards them.

"Do not be afraid," the prist said, as he turned to his aid.  The aid then produced something the size of a large painting, covered with a thick woollen cloth.  The priest then unwrapped it, and let the cloth fall to the ground below.  

It was a huge iron version of the red face he'd seen so many times.  The prist then held it up towards the telescope.  All of a sudden, Rasputin jumped, as a small tight ray of green light shot froth from the telescope, and began to bath the metal face in green light.  

Then, there was a high-pitched whistling sound, and there was a loud bombing voice, which spoke perfect Russian.

"Authorisation confirmed, Access granted."  Before Rasputin could ask any question, the telescope disappeared back into the hole it had come from, and there was a loud click, followed by a slow rumbling sound, as the double doors, slid open with a power all of their own.  

Rasputin took a few steps backward, and was almost ready to turn about and run, had not the prist and his aid started towards the doors the moment they started opening.  Summoning up his courage, he took a deep breath, and followed them inside.  His boots echoing of the metal floor.

Once inside, Rasputin was at a loss for words.  If he'd been impressed by mealy the outside, what lay inside was utterly breathtaking.  

Lights that glowed as bright as the sun, yet with no flame.  Iron so smooth, it was almost like skin, and the constant hum of an unknown source reverberated all around him.  Rasputin walked behind the prist and his aid, turning his head from one fascinating object to the next, like a curios child, as they made their way down the hall.

Eventually, they came to the end of the long hall.  Another huge door blocked their path, but as the prist and his aid approached it, it opened by its self, making Rasputin jump.  As he hesitated, the prist turned around, and beckoned him to follow.

"Come, Brother Rasputin," he replied.  "There is nothing in here that can harm you!"  He hesitated again, before making a few short, but curious steps inside.

He froze, and this time, he cried out in alarm.

They now stood inside a gigantic metal room, with boxes here and there.  Strange coloured wires hung all around the place, tubes, and junk.  And there, scattered about room, where giants.  Giant men made entirely of iron.  They lay on the ground, in the position of dead men after a battle.  They were enormous in size, and were utterly frightening.  

"There is no need to be frightened," the prist reassured him again.  "Come, we must wake up the guardians."

"How!?!"  Rasputin blurted out.  "Even now, I seriously doubt I'll be able too."

"Only you, have the power, brother Rasputin," the prist answered.  "Only you, have the gift that can wake the guardians."

"I don't know how!"  Rasputin practically screamed out.  "I don't even know what this place is!  I don't even know what they really are!"  He pointed to the nearest iron giant.  "And even if my powers could wake them up, I don't even know where to begin!"

"Then I will show you," the prist said, and leaving his aid behind, hobbled over to a giant throne in the middle of the room.  In the throne, lay the tallest of the iron giants.  Its torso was red and grey, with blue legs and head.  It had spikes coming form the top of its head with a visor where it's mouth should've been.  On both shoulders, it wore the same red face he'd seen everywhere in this place.

Rasputin followed, keeping just behind the old man, as he hobbled over to the tall giant.  "What is that?"  Rasputin whispered.  

"The start," the prist answered, holding up his hands towards it.  "This is where you must start, Brother Rasputin.

"I… I…"  He stammered.  He was getting a strange feeling from the iron giant.  Something he'd never felt before.  Standing before this giant, felt like standing before a morning ray of sunlight.  He felt warm, and safe.  There was something coming from this creature that was powerful.  Something he couldn't quite explain.

"You can feel it, can't you!"  the Prist said.

"Yes, father," Rasputin replied in a soft voice, "I can."

The prist then waved to his aid, who quickly left the room.  A few minutes later, he returned with twenty big strong men, whom al carried crowbars, and hooks.  The prist then waved at the sleeping giant in the throne, and the workers started climbing all over it, climbing up to it's chest.  

Once there, they all attached the hooks, and crowbars, and began to heave.  

"One… Two… Heave!"  The lead man shouted, and they all strained.  He shouted the same thing again, and they strained to pull the chest apart.  A third time, and something gave way.  There was a hissing sound as the chest parted slightly.  The workers started pulling more vigorously, pulling the chest open, like a set of double doors, until it was fully open.

"Dear… God," Rasputin whispered.  

It glowed like a bright full moon, shining through crystal.  It was the most beautiful thing, Rasputin had ever seen.  Held together in some sort of holder, the giant glowing crystal bathed the whole room in a bright white light.  Even the workers stoped and stared in stunned awe.

Only Rasputin was able to feel the energy, radiating from the great jewel, like a life force.  It was almost as if he were standing before the gates of heaven its self.  Slowly, he took one step, then another, and then another, towards the giant.  The others watched, as Rasputin slowly climbed up the legs, then along the lower torso towards the chest.  

Standing within arms reach of it, was overwhelming.  He shielded his eyes from the glow, as he reached out.  He backed off, as he felt the overwhelming rush of energy from the jewel.  It was unlike anything he'd ever experienced before.  

Slowly, he reached out, and touched the glowing jewel.  Suddenly, he was bombarded by a million images at once, like a thousand novels cramming themselves into his brain, he cried out in alarm, as he reserved an overwhelming amount of knowledge and information.

Just then, it all vanished, as he was pulled away by the rough hands of a worker.  He lay in the man arms, gasping for breath.  The man glanced back at the jewel, which had stopped glowing as brightly as it originally had.

"Are you alright?"  He asked.

Rasputin did not answer him.

"Is he dead?"  Another worker asked.  The man who held Rasputin, placed two fingers to his neck, and shook his head.  

"Just stunned," he replied."

"Take him to our guests quarters," the prist said, as the workers all helped Rasputin to the ground, then closed up the chest.  Then, they all carried his limp body back outside the Ark.  

As the last man left the Ark, there was a buzzing sound, the doors to the inside closed, sealing it up again.

***

For days, Rasputin lay in a slight form of coma, as he drifted in and out of reality, babbling incomprehensibly to his caretakers, waking in the middle of the nights, screaming, and making strange clicking, and high pitched whistling noises.

Nobody knew what to make of it, even the high Prist was becoming concerned, something that had never occurred before in his long life.

However, Rasputin finally managed to regain consciousness.  Almost a week after his encounter inside the Ark, he was discovered by one of his caretakers, wondering about the halls in a confused trance.  Over the next few days, he eventually made his way back to sanity.

After two weeks had passed, Rasputin finally overcame his illness, and was ready for the High Prist.    

***

The High Prist was eating some soup, when a loud knock sounded from the door.  "Enter," he called out, and then took another mouthful of soup.

A man in a cloak pushed open the door, and stood aside, as Rasputin walked into the room. The High Prist motioned for him to sit at the opposite end of the table, which he did.  The guard at the door was dismissed with another nod, and with a loud bang that echoed through the huge dining room, they were alone.

"Good morning, Brother Rasputin," The High Prist said with a smile.  "How are you feeling?"

"Much better, thankyou father," Rasputin replied, rubbing his forehead.  There was an awkward silence that followed, as the two men just stared at each other.

"What happened to you back at the Ark, Brother Rasputin?"  The High prist asked.

Rasputin shook his head.  "I'm not to sure myself, Father," he replied.  "I… was joined with --- with the…" He blinked in confusion.  "The Matrix?  Yes, that was its name."  He grasped at his head.  "Ohh, I, I don't feel so good," he moaned.  "I need to lie down again."  He leaned back in the chair.

"The Matrix?"  The high prist asked.

"Yes," Rasputin said, slowing his breathing, "It is… the life force of the Transformers!"

"Transformers?"

"Yes," Rasputin gasped.  "Like I said before, Father, I don't understand most of it…"

"Then try your best to explain," the High Prist replied.

"Thankyou, Father," he said.  "When I touched the Matrix, that glowing jewel, I was instantly empowered with the knowledge of the Transformers and their history.  They are a race of machines that can turn into other machines.  They have existed since before the creation of Earth its self."

"And you got all of this from… the Ma-trix?"  The High Prist asked.

"Yes," Rasputin replied, astonished at what he knew.  The High Prist nodded, then said.

"When I was once a young man, I touched this… Matrix myself.  It felt like I was bathing in a warm beam of sunlight on a beautiful morning.  However, I never experienced anything like you did."

"It was… unbelievable," Rasputin gasped out.  "Like having the entire history of the world, told from the perspective of ever living creature, inserted into my mind in the time space of a few seconds."  He gasped out a sigh.  "It was…  so overwhelming --- I, couldn't even breath."  He quickly regained his posture, "It's taken quite some time, but I've finally managed to make sense out of some of the information in my head.  The rest is – utter nonsense."  He cradled his head in his hand.

"What else have you learned," The High Priest asked.

"I know who the guardians are," Rasputin said, leaning forward.  "They are a called, the Autobots, and the Evil ones are called, The Decpticons."

"How curios," The High Prist said.

"And that's not all," Rasputin replied with a smile.  "I also know how to awaken them."

"Really?"  The High Prist asked.  "You learned all that from just touching this, Matrix?"

"It must have something to do with my gift," Rasputin said, looking at his own hands.  "Ever since I was born, I've known I was somehow… different."

"Not different, Brother Rasputin," the High Prist said with a warm smile.  "Special."  

"Thankyou Father," Rasputin replied, bowing slightly.

"That's quite alright, my son," he said, then added, "You said you were feeling dizzy before?"  

  
"That's right," Rasputin replied, "But not as bad as I was a few minutes ago."

"Still," The High Prist answered, "That could be enough.  I think you should rest for the rest of the day.  Tomorrow morning, we'll start the ceremony."

"Yes, Father," Rasputin replied, as he rose, bowed, and left the room.  The High Prist finished the rest of his soup, and called for his aid.  He then helped the High Prist to his feet, and back to his room.  The moment the doors to the dining room were closed, the tablecloth of the table was moved aside, and a young man crawled out.

He looked about 19 years old, and he wore the same cloaks as everyone else.  From beneath his hood, he smiled, and rubbed his chin in thought. 

**THE NEXT MORNING…**

There was a small army gathered before the Ark that morning, as Rasputin prepared to awake the guardians.  Anticipation was on everyone's mind, and many carried weapons, much to the displeasure of the High Prist, but they were insistent, and so he let it be.

Word of what had happened to Rasputin had spread like wild fire around the castle, and by the time of the ceremony, there was not one brotherhood member who wasn't feeling a little anxiety.

Lamps light the whole room, and w huge bulky object, which was called a motion-capturing camera, stood by, ready to record all for prosperity.  Also, a cameraman stood by, with flash pan in hand.

The murmuring died down, as Rasputin entered the enormous cavern, and like the red sea before Mosses, the crowd parted as he walked towards the Ark.  The camera crew, and the cameraman all picked up their equipment, and followed.

Holding the red iron face up to the telescope that came down from the ceiling, it bathed it in green light, before allowing him entrance inside.  This time, everyone followed behind him, as he led them into the great room with all the giants.

They all stopped, and watched, as he walked over to the tallest of the giants, and stood before, looking up at the head, tilted of to one side, and as lifeless as a corpse.  Rasputin turned to all the followers, and said, "He is the one we must wake."  He turned back to face the red and blue giant.  "He will know what to do."

They all nodded, and set about setting all their equipment up, the motion camera, and the normal camera, the lights, and a few stood by with rifles, the thumbs resting on the safety catches.

Then, when everyone was ready, the motion camera crew started recording, and slowly, Rasputin climbed up the legs, towards the chest, and then, climbing up the chest, towards the great head.  He stood before it, and looked at its forehead.

He reached out, and pushed hard on it, and with a click, he pulled back, and it swung open like a door.  Inside was the most fascinating piece of machinery he'd ever seen.  More lights with no power source, and slates with little bumps on them, wires of every colour.  Rasputin took a moment to take in the sight, then reached in, towards the small sphere in the middle.

He could feel the power radiating from it, as he slowly closed his hands around it, and closed his eyes.  He had never used his gift like this before, but he had to try.  He concentrated as hard as he could, focusing on the other energy source he could feel from the machine.  

The one that felt like a human soul.

He screwed up his face, blocking all other thoughts out of his head, as he focused all of his energies on that one bright speak of light.  He mentally began to call to it, urging it to resurface, calling, begging, pleading, and reaching deep with his mind.

Finally, it grasped it, and like a fisherman, began to reel it towards the surface, fighting, trying with all his might, not to lose it.  Sweat trickled down his scrunched up face, as he poured all of his energy in pulling it back to the surface.

Suddenly, it began to shoot up like a jet of steam, surprising Rasputin, as he tumbled back.  He was brought out of his trance, and back to reality, and fell backwards.  He cried out in alarm, his arms flaying wide, as he tried to grab hold of anything.  He felt his body weight shift, and he fell over backwards – headfirst -- towards the ground below.

Suddenly, something hard and made of iron broke his fall.  He breathed a sigh of relief, and mopped his brow, he must have landed on the giant's legs.  Suddenly, he was aware of the deadly silence from the crowd.  He had heard them shout out as he fell, but now, he couldn't here anything.

It was then, that he was aware of the two bright glowing blue eyes, staring down at him from above.  He opened his mouth, and nothing came out, as he tried to push himself back into the metal, which he suddenly realised was the giant's hand.

"Do not be afraid, little one," a giant metallic voice bombed at him in perfect Russian.  "I will not hurt you."  The hand that held him, lowered to the floor, and Rasputin scrambled off, and rolling with his action, rolled onto his feet, and getting up, stared up in awe at the towering giant.

The iron giant then reached up, and closed the small door like panel to his head, and then slowly, with metal joints creaking and whining, it rose to its feet, and to its full hight.  There was not one man in that room who didn't take at least three steps back as the giant rose.

The giant tested its arms, then flexed its fingers, and twisted around, testing its torso.  Then, it turned and looked down at the men below, all staring opened mouthed up at the giant.  He took a step forward, then another.  The group moved back considerably, only Rasputin didn't move, as he looked up at the towering giant.

From out of the crowd, the High prist approached, his aid beside him, along with some other priest's.  They came and stood alongside Rasuptin, all looking up at the iron giant.  The giant then lowered down on one knee, and looked down at them, as if studying them in turn.

The man with the camera took a photo, making everyone jump, and catching the giant's attention.  He looked from the group before him, to the cameraman, who dropped his camera, and stumbled backwards, tripping over some cords.  The giant then turned back to the men before him.

"Are you the one who awakened me?"  It asked Rasputin.

"Indeed I am, Optimus Prime," Rasputin replied.

"Thankyou," the giant answered.  "I am indeed in your debt.  What is your name?"

"Grigory Yefimovich Rasputin," he replied.  "Please, call me Grigory."

"Thankyou, Grigory," It answered.  Then it paused, and asked, "How did you know my name?"

"When I first meet you," Rasputin explained, "I touched the Matrix, hoping to learn something about you and your crew.  You see, I have a special gift that no one else among my people has.  When I touched the Martix, it gave me all the knowledge and information about your race, including who you are, and how I could awaken you."

"Then I am in your debt, Grigory," Prime replied.

"Prime!"  Rasputin called out.

"Yes?"  Prime asked.

"There is a reason we have wakened you," he called out.  "The Decepticons have begun to arrive on our world.  We need you and the Autobots to help defeat them!"  A few workers turned towards Rasputin as he mentioned the word 'Decepticon.'  Was that the name of the evil ones?

"Decepticons?"  Prime said, he seemed to be taken back a bit.  Then, he shook his head, and sighed.  "I should've known Megatron could never die."

Rasputin frowned.  Megatron.  When he'd tried to bring back Prime's mind from it's coma like state, he'd come across that word many times.  Who was Megatron?  Was it the name of that thing that had landed in Scotland?  "A Space ship landed in a distant land, bearing the national flag of the Decpticons," Rasputin replied.  "It has been there for nearly two weeks.  Yet, nothing has emerged."

"Then we must make sure that nothing ever emerges from it, Grigory," Prime said.  "But first, there is still much to do.  I must awaken my Autobots, and we will all have to undergo repairs."  He looked down at his own body, which was cracked, and broken, with wires hanging from his body.  He flexed the fingers on his hands, his right hand sparking at the joints.  "How long has it been?"

Rasputin shook his head.  "I was unable to retrieve that information from the Matrix, Prime," he replied.

"Maybe Cybertron no longer exists," Prime muttered, glancing up at the ceiling.  "Ether way, the Decpticons must not be allowed to destroy this world."

"Which is why we need your help, Prime."  Rasputin repeated.  "You have to help us, we can't take on the Decpticons by ourselves."

"Yes," Prime replied, looking at him, "You are right!  But I have many tasks to perform if we are to lunch an effective counter strike against the Decepticons.  I need to get the Ark back *Garble* Then, I can asses the damage we have received to our bodies, and if need be, repair our transformation modes."

The gathered workers all looked confused.  "They are called Transformers," Rasputin replied as he turned to the gathered crowd.  "They are called that, because they are machines that can turn into other machines."

Excited whispers and gossip sprung up among the workers.  Towards the back, a young man of 19 smiled, and rubbed his hand with glee.

**NORTHEN QUEENSLAND: AUSTRALIA: Eight Days Later…**

The forest was relatively quite, except for the shaking of leaves, as two figures jogged through the bushes, pushing the greenery aside as they hurried along.  Ivan swore as he jumped over a fallen log, while Richardson scrambled over it.

His boots came down hard in a puddle of water, splashing it everywhere, and nearly dropping his Winchester, but he ignored it, as he followed Sankowski along the track.  Ahead of him, Ivan pushed another tree branch out of the way, which flung back, nearly taking out Richards.

"Watch it!"  Richards snapped, ducking just in time.

Ivan didn't answer him, as he came to a screeching halt, Richards nearly slammed into the back of him.  Ivan looked both left and right, then turned back to look at the path they'd just come down.

"Don't tell me yer' lost!"  Richards moaned.  "I thought you knew where we were go'n!"

"I do," Ivan said, his grip, tightening on the trigger of his revolver, as his eyes glanced nervously about, "It's just that… I have the feeling we're not alone out here."

Richards glanced about at the treetops.  "Don't tell me it's that metal monstrosity again!"  He raised the Winchester and flexed his finger on the trigger.

"No," Ivan muttered, "Not that thing."

"You're skills are indeed great, Ivan," another voice said, making both men spin around, guns raised.  An aborigine walked out of the bushes, carrying a bolt-action rifle in both hands.  He was about in his late fifties, with a greying full beard, and wearing a khaki, bush trackers uniform with the rank of sergeant.

"Bruce?"  Both Ivan and Richards lowered their weapons.  They recognised the old man.  He was the head of their group of local labourers, who'd abandoned them a few days earlier.  

"Where the bloody hell have you been?"  Richards demanded, "And why are you still here?  I thought you and yer friends were gone?"

"No," Bruce said, shaking his head, "Not all of us are gone."  He gave a sharp whistle, and the bushes rustled, as about six other aborigines rose to their feet.  Some wore the khaki uniform of the bush trackers, while the rest just wore their native bush garb.  All men were carrying rifles.

"You've been following us the whole time?"  Ivan asked cocking his head in disbelief.

"No," Bruce replied.  "Not into the hole."

"The…?"  Richards started, but stopped, as he realised just what the old man meant.  That pit where the space ship lay.  Instead, he said, "You knew about that place?"

"Not all of it," Bruce said.  "I was hoping you wouldn't be stupid enough to venture into it, but it looks like my judgement was wrong again."

"Why didn't you warn us about that place?"  Ivan asked.

"I did."  Bruce said.  

"No," Richards said, "About that… thing down there, in the hole."

"Would you have believed me, if I outright told you?"  

Ivan blinked at what Bruce had just said.  "You mean… you've been down there?"

"Once," Bruce answered.  "But I never stayed a moment longer.  Even though I never understood anything that was in the hole, I could feel the evil vibes from the dormant giants, and knew it was not wise to be exploring around down there.  Now you have awakened the creatures my tribe has fought so long to keep dead."

The two men nodded silently.  Then, Ivan asked, "Bruce, have you by any chance seen Steel over the past few days?"

"Yes," Bruce said narrowing his eyes.  "But we dared not approach him, for he was in liege with the evil from within the hole."

"He was what?"  Richards cried out.

"What could Steel and that iron giant possibly have in common?"  Ivan muttered.

"Colonialism?"  Richards said with a chuckle.  Ivan was about to tell him to be serious, but stopped.  His face dawned with realisation, and Richards saw it too.  "You know, I really didn't mean that," he said.

"Just like War of the Worlds," Ivan muttered.  "I can't believe he'd help a Martian Invasion."

"Maybe it was holding him hostage, forcing him to obey?"  Richards said with a shrug.

Bruce shook his head.  "He was going along willingly."

"Well," Richards said hoisting his Winchester, "That's the English for ya!"

"Save your English bashing for latter, Colonel," Ivan said, holstering his revolver, and turning back to Bruce.  "Bruce, was Steel heading back to Brisbane?"  Bruce nodded.  "We need to get back to Brisbane and find him at once."

"And do what?"  Richards asked, holding up his gun.  "This thing didn't work the last time, and when we do find him, what exactly are we going to do -- remember, he's in the company of a giant iron man -- ask him to give up?"

"Actually," Bruce said, "There's something you should know about this… iron giant."

"What?"

"It had shrunk."  Both men blinked.

"What!?"

"It had turned into a gun, just a bit bigger than your own gun, Ivan."  Ivan glanced down at his in the holster.

"How?"  Bruce shrugged.

"Even I don't know everything, but I can tell you, it had the same evil presence I felt in the ship."

"You're betting everything we have, on the instincts of an old man?"  Richards asked Ivan.

"That 'old man,' as you put it, happens to know what he's talking about, Colonel," Ivan said.  "If he says we should trust his instincts, we should trust his instincts."

"So what are we going to do?"  Richards asked.

"First," Ivan said, "We get back to Brisbane, then we'll figure out what we're going to do about Steel."

**NORTHERN ENGLAND: 11 Days later…**

As the train rattled north through the darkness of North Yorkshire, the porter came down the aisle of the first class carriage.  He knocked on the door, and when the voice answered, he opened it, and looked in at the man inside who put down his book.

"Would you like me to make up your bed, sir?"  He asked.

"Yes, that would be lovely, thankyou," Winston Churchill answered.  The porter nodded, and Churchill rose and stood aside.  Moving with swift efficiency, the porter let down the hinged seat back, laid the mattress on the bed thus created, and made it up in the blink of an eye.

"There you go, sir," he said, drawing the curtain around the berth to give Winston the chance to change into some bedclothes in some privacy.

"Thankyou, young man," Winston said, and tipping the porter, sat back down again.  The porter thanked him, and then left to knock on the next booth door.  Winston then put on his nightclothes, got into bed, and turned off the gas lamp by which he'd been reading.

The rattling, jouncing ride and the thin, lumpy mattress bothered him only a little.  He was used to rough sleeping, after his expedition with Lord Kitchener into the Sudan, and he'd been sleeping in much worse conditions.

He yawned and grimaced, trying to find a comfortable position on the mattress.  After much turning, he found a good spot, yawned again, and fell asleep.

He awoke sometime later when the train hissed and screeched into a stop at some small town in the English countryside.  He was used to it by now, after all, the train had been stopping at towns all along the journey into Scotland.  He got up, and pulled down the blinds to prevent the lights from the station shining in, then got back into bed.  Eventually, there was a loud, long whistle blow, and the train began its slow but steady shunting out of the station.

He was just about to get back to sleep, when there was a knocking at his door.  He muttered a silent curse, and got up out of bed.  Who the devil was knocking at his door now?  "Go away!"  He cried out, "This is a privet booth!"

The knock came again, more loudly this time, and followed by a male voice.  "It's urgent I need to speak to you, Mr Churchill."  Winston blinked in surprise.  Who knew he was here?  "Mr. Churchill?"  The voice asked again.

"I'm coming, I'm coming!"  Winston snarled, as he put on some slippers, and shuffled over to the door.  He unlocked it, and opened the door.

A young man in his early twenties stood there, carrying two suitcases and sporting a pair of spectacles.  He was neatly dressed with a short moustache.  "Winston Churchill?"  He asked.

"Who the hell are you?"  Winston demanded, lighting up his lamp in order to get a better look at the man.

"Oh, I'm Jason Hill," he said, holding out his hand, "Oliver Borthwick sent me to help you with your assignment in Scotland."  Winston looked at the man's outstretched hand and back up at his face.  The mans smile slowly faded as he lowered his hand.

"I work alone," he said, then closed the door in the mans face, and turned around.  There was a loud rapping sound that threatened to break down the door.  Winston rolled his eyes, and opened the door.

"I'm not that easy to get rid off," Jason said, sticking his foot in the door, in order to prevent Winston from closing it again.  "And I'm not leaving until you accept me as your partner."  Winston shot the man a deadly look.  "Ummm," he said "Assistant?"  The look didn't disappear, and he rolled his eyes, and turned around, heading back into his booth, leaving the door open.

"Borthwick must really hate me," Winston muttered, sitting back down on the bed.  "He knows I always work alone."

"But he knows when you need help, Winston," Jason said, following him in, and sitting down on one of his travel cases.

"That's Mr. Churchill to you, son," Winston said.

"Mr. Churchill," Jason said, "You are going to need all the help you can, when you get to Scotland."  He then held up his fingers, counting of points, as he made them.  "You're going to need someone who knows the land, someone like me.  You're also going to need someone to act as a diversion so you can sneak around, someone like me.  And you're going to need help with what ever it is that's up there in Scotland."

"I didn't need any help back in South Africa," Winston said with a snort.  "And I definitely don't need any help uncovering a hoax!"

"You still don't believe this thing is real?"  Jason asked.  

Winston eyed the man, then said, "How much did Borthwick tell you?"

"Enough," Jason said with a smile.  "He said you'd be sceptical about the whole thing."  Winston's left eye twitched.

"And that's the real reason you're following me, isn't it?"  Winston said, levelling a finger at him.  Jason couldn't stifle a chuckle.

"That's another reason," he said waving the comment away with the flick of his wrist.

Winston shook his head in disbelief, "I'm going to strangle Borthwick when I get back to London."

"I thought the idea of getting the first scope on the first contact with another intelligent species would be something you'd take in a heartbeat, Mr. Churchill?"

"Because it's not real, boy," Churchill snapped, "The idea that God bestowed intelligence to others is beyond comprehension!  It states in the bible that God created us in his image, if he created us, what was the reason for creating others who are smarter than us?"

"There are thousands of religions in our world alone, Mr. Churchill," Jason said.  "All of those state that their religions are right, and all others are wrong.  Why shouldn't it be the same for us?"

"You're starting to sound like a Darwinist," Winston said.  "May I remind you of all the hoaxes that occurred when Europeans discovered the North and South continents of America.  The Amazon River received its name because people believed Amazon women lived along that river.  Of the many dragons and serpents that lived there…"

"I get the picture, Mr. Churchill," Jason said quickly interrupting, "But the British Government and military are taking this so called 'Hoax' very seriously."  Now, he surprised Winston.

"What?!"  He cried out.  "Why?"

"Because they have studied this thing close-up, Winston…"

"Mr. Churchill!"

"Whatever," Jason said, rolling his eyes, "They have had some of the finest scientific minds looking at this thing, and those people are convinced it's real."

"I…  I…"  Winston stammered.

"I know it's hard to believe, Mr. Churchill," Jason said, "But maybe, the Bible is wrong?"

"There isn't a priest in the Christian world who wouldn't try to strangle you for even thinking that, young man," Winston said with a sigh, "But your reasoning has truth to it."  He shook his head, as he looked at the blinds covering the window.  "All my life, I was taught to believe that humans were the centre of the universe, that we were the only intelligent creatures in creation.  And now, in the time space of a few days, you find out that God has lied to you."  He glanced down at his own feet.  "Even now, I'm finding myself questioning his existence."

"Maybe this will convince you," Jason said, reaching into his jacket, and pulling out something wrapped in cloth.  Winston raised an eyebrow as Jason started unwrapping it, to reveal a green rectangular piece of metal, with small silver like dots on it.  There were almost silver lines running around the whole thing connecting to the dots like an elaborate maze. 

"What is that?"  Winston gasped, reaching out for it.  Jason gave it to him.  It felt like steel, yet it had almost no weight.  It was like nothing he'd ever seen before, and was completely alien.

"That was taken from the object that landed in Scotland."  Jason explained.  "Although it was intact, some pieces came off from the heavy impact from our gravity pull.  The pieces that did come off, had thousands of things like this inside."

"Where did you get this?"

Jason smiled, and leaned back, showing of his posture.  "Like I said earlier," he announced with pride.  "You're going to need someone who can act as a diversion to allow you through."  He then shrugged and gave a half smile.  "Also, most of the guards that are there, aren't very well off, and all humans will sing to what ever tune you play, if you throw more than enough money at them."

For the first time in since they'd meet, Jason saw Winston smile.  "Brash, yet successful," Winston said.  "I like that in a man.  Very well," Winston said, slapping his knee, "I'll accept you along as my assistant."

"Dose that mean I can call you Winston?"  Jason asked.

"Don't push it."

**BRISBANE: Two Weeks later**

The train shuddered as it crossed the points into the city and the rain ran in streams across the window.  Sitting alone in his private booth, Steel glanced out at the water streaking down the window, watching the city in the background.

"Amazing," the voice from within his jacket said, "The atmosphere is leaking coolant fluid!"

Steel quickly looked around, but no one was passing by his door, and because it was a private booth, there was no chance anyone would discover his little secret.

"Would you be quite," Steel hissed at the white and grey Smith'n western with the black targeting scope on top, strapped to his chest.  "The whole point of that disguise was not to draw attention to your self."

"Relax, Flesh Steel," Megatron replied.  "My internal *Garble* informs me that your audio receivers aren't capable of picking up sounds at my present vocal volume through that substance you call, wood."

"Still," Steel said, looking at the door to his cabin, "We are nearing the end of our journey, it would be wise if you kept silent."

"Brisbane," the conductor shouted, as he passed down the corridor, "All out for Brisbane!"  The train gave a convulsive jerk, and came to a complete stop.  The jerk made Steel jump.  He was getting more nervous with every passing minute.

He reached into his jacket, and pulled out a small flask of whisky.  He raised it to his lips, and took a huge swing from it.  He let out a loud gasp, and then quickly put it away.  "Ahh, that hit the spot," he said with a chuckle.

Then, stretching out, he heaved himself out of his seat, and grabbed his belongings from the stores above his head.  He then looked around, then looked back down at his jacket.  "I would advise that until I give the signal, you remain quite.  Do we understand?"

"You would not do wise to dictate terms to me, Flesh Steel," the jacket replied.  "But your point is logical."  Steel couldn't help but pull out his hanky and mop his sweating brow, wondering what he'd managed to get himself into.  Instead, he just yanked open the door to his booth, and headed out into the already packet corridor.

Around him the other passengers were rising from their own booths, and shook the creases from their clothes.  To his left the elderly couple with whom he had as neighbours, smiled their goodbyes to him; he stoped and helped them with their case.  

There was a hiss of steam and the train pulled into the station.  The conductor opened the door, stepped down and motioned for the other passengers to come outside.  Steel was the first out, and he looked around him.  People were everywhere, getting onto the train, leaving, or meeting those who'd just gotten off.  Clutching his carry case, he walked off to find his luggage.

To his right, the elderly couple were embracing a son and daughter-in-law, hugging a grandchild they had not seen for two years.  Steel let a half smile escape his lips as he watched the loving reunion, before heading over to the porters.

Collecting his belongings, he made his way out to the station's exit.  Once outside, he put up his umbrella, and walking down the steps of the station, hailed down a cab.  The single horse carriage pulled up, and the driver tipped his hat to Steel.

"Where can I take you?"  He asked.  The two-seater carriage had a canopy over it, and Steel shook his umbrella free of water as he climbed in, his luggage on the seat next to him.

"The nearest hotel," Steel said, as he shivered from the cold.

"You've got it," The driver said, and with the whip of his horse, started off down the street and into the traffic.  Steel crossed his arms, trying to trap some warmth to his body, as they travelled along the streets.  "Hey," the driver suddenly called out to, "Would you look at that!"

Steel leaned forwards, and looked over the mans shoulder.  There, driving down the opposite side of the street, was a carriage, with a motorised engine.  A horseless carriage.  "Well, I'll be," Steel said, "Those things are popping up everywhere."

The driver turned towards him.  "Last time I herd," the driver said, "There were a couple of those things down in Melbourne."  He turned back to watch where he was going.  "Never thought they'd get up here that quick."

They finally reached the hotel, and driver helped Steel with his baggage inside.  Once inside, Steel rented a room, and a porter took his things up there, and he followed suit.  Once the porter left, Steel set about unpacking his things.

"What are we doing, wasting time here?!"  Steel jumped at the sound of the voice, and calmed down when he realised who it was.

"While we are here," Steel said to his jacket, "We need a place to stay.  And after my long journey from up North, I'm feeling sleepy."

"How can you feel like a *Garble* Shut-down right now?"  Megatron demanded.  "We have just arrived, we need to scout out energy source."  Steel thought about what Megatron had just said, then realised what he meant.

"Maybe you can function without sleep," Steel said, "but I can't, and right now, I'm feeling tired."  He gave a yawn to emphasise his point.

"Very well," Megatron said.  "I suggest you find the nearest recharging chamber and plug your self in."

Steel was stunned.  "Find the nearest what, and what!?!"  Steel cried out.

Megatron sighed.  "Do what ever it is, you flesh creatures do to recharge yourselves."  Steel gave the revolver a funny look, before taking it off, and placing it on a drawer, then taking of his jacket, shirt, shoes, and socks, lay down on the bed, and fell into a deep sleep.

***

Steel was roughly awakened by something hard and cold, poking him roughly in the spine.  He jerked his head up, and looked around.

"Well," The metallic voice from behind said, and Steel rolled over to see the smith and Western hovering in the air, just before him, "It's about time."  Steel blinked, and looked out at the window.  It was nighttime, and it was still raining. 

"What time is it?"  Steel asked, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"That's not important," Megatron replied, flying over to the holster, and inserting himself inside, "What is, is that my *Garble* have reported, that 89% of all Flesh Creatures in this settlement are is *Garble* Shut-down."

"You mean they're asleep."

"Whatever," Megatron replied, as the holster floated up into the air, and back over to Steel, "The point is, that we can now scout out this settlements energy supplies!"

"Now?"  Steel said, looking out the window.  "It's still raining out there."

"Even better," Megatron said, "The coolant fluids will keep the rest of the flesh creatures inside.  And if you wish to be rewarded when I am done with you, I suggest that you don't question my orders again, Flesh Steel."

"Yes," Steel said, hastily grabbing the floating holster, and strapping it to his chest.  Then he set about getting dressed, and hurried down to the outside of the hotel.  There was hardly anyone around, so he quietly took the path into the kitchen, and out the back entrance.  It was raining hard outside as he opened the door.  He looked up at the darkened night sky, and shook his head.

He opened up his umbrella and held it above his head, as he dashed down to the ally towards the entrance of the street.  He looked around.  The electric lights lit up the night, meaning there was a power station somewhere.  He looked from left to right, then hurried across the empty street.

"You're going the wrong way, Flesh Steel," Megatron's voice made Steel jump.  "My *Garble* detects energy the other way!"

"Fine," Steel said, mopping his sweating brow, "Just please don't do that anymore, you're making me nervous."  He then hurried back the other way.

After an hour and a half of half jogging, half walking, Steel made his way across a bridge, towards a coal burning power station.  Following Megatron's directions had lead them here.

"There it is, Flesh Steel," Megatron said, "Hurry."

"What's the rush," Steel asked, as he power walked across the bridge to the other side.

"I want my army back *Garble* before Prime can get his *Garble*"

"Who is this… Prime?"  Steel asked, as he reached the other side of the bridge, and slowed down his pace.

"The leader of the Autobots," Megatron answered.  "And my sworn enemy!"

"Quite, please!"  Steel hissed, looking about.  "Please, keep your voice down, or we will be found out." 

They then hurried over, careful not to wake the sleeping guard, and went around a back ally, where no one would see them.  There were a few garbage cans back there, as well as a lone door with a huge padlock on it.

"Now what?"  Steel asked.

"That lock is not a serious obstacle," Megatron replied, "I can destroy that!"

Suddenly, a bright light flooded the ally, and Steel held up his hands to shield his eyes.  "Ah hah!"  A voice called out.  Steel spun around to see the guard they'd sneaked past, standing there with an oil lamp in one hand, and a very large revolver in the other.

"Shit!"  Steel swore, dropping the umbrella and raising his hands into the air.  The guard walked towards him, and Steel swore again, as he realised it was a policeman.  Now he was in trouble. 

"Well, well, well," the man said, stopping a few feet from Steel.  "What's this, ey?  Out for a midnight stroll?"  

"Ummm," Steel said, "I work here, I just left some paperwork here and I really need to get it, and I just didn't want to disturb you, that's all."  Steel said.

"Really," The man said.  "And where's your key, then?"  Steel patted his pockets, and faked a grimace.  "I'm afraid I didn't bring it with me," he slapped his head, "Of all the stupid things, I guess the jokes on me."  He let out a small chuckle.  "If you could be so kind to left me in I'll,"  
  


"Nice try, sonny," the man said, pulling back the hammer of the gun, "But I know every man who works here, and I don't know you!  Now, up against the wall!"  Steel grumbled as he complied.  The policeman began patting him down.

Suddenly, Steels eyes widened.  Megatron.  Unfortunately, the policeman found him first.  "Well," he said, pulling out the gun, "I didn't know they were issuing employees with these!"  He held the gun up in front of the lamplight.  "I don't know what you're doing here sir, but you're under arr---!"  He trailed off.

The gun he held in his hand was the most peculiar looking thing he'd ever seen.  It was shiny as a knight's armour, and had an odd purple face on the side.  That, and getting a good look at it, he realised that the hammer couldn't be cocked.  It was welded onto the gun.  He then tilted it to one side, examining the chamber, as gasped when he saw that there were no chamber rounds to place the bullets in.  In fact, the chamber couldn't be removed.

"Ummm,"  Steel said shrugging nervously, you really shouldn't play with that thing."

"What the hell is this!"  The policeman whispered, as he turned the gun around, and examined the front end.  Then, he squinted one eye, and looked right down the muzzle of the gun.

BAMM!!!!

Steel jumped at the explosion that followed.  There was a bright flash of purple light, and the policeman shuddered.  For nearly a minute, nobody moved, as Steel stood there, shivering in the pouring rain.  Finally he asked, "Are y-you okay!?"

The policeman lowered the gun, and turned to face Steel.

Steel wished he hadn't.  His eyes bulged, as he saw the one half of the policeman's face was gone.  Just gone.  The right side was perfectly normal, but the left ended in a sickly burnt crisp.  From the upper jaw, to the tip of his head was blown off, leaving the edges neatly singed.

Then, the only remaining eye rolled up in the mans head, as he fell to the ground.  Steel couldn't hold it back any longer.  Grabbing his mouth, he turned around, ripping of the lid of the nearest garbage can, and puked.  He finally stopped heaving, and lay there, clutching the edges of the bin, gasping for breath.

"Are you quite finished?"  Megatron's metallic voice asked.  Steel glanced around, to see Megatron in gun mode, floating in mid-air above the dead policeman's body.

"You killed him!"  Steel chocked. 

"He was getting too nosey," Megatron replied.  "He would've alerted others of our presence!"

"But he's a policeman," Steel said, pointing at the body, "You just can't kill a policeman."

"Well, I just did!"  Megatron replied with chilling indifference.  

"But a dead policeman will bring lots of unwanted attention, Megatron!"  Steel protested.

"Then, hurry!"  The muzzle then swung towards the door, and fired again.  A bright flash of purple leapt from the muzzle of the gun, and blew the padlock, and the door handle into dust.  The door swung open with a low creak, and the gun, flew inside.  "Come on!"  Megatron called back.

Getting to his wobbly feet, Steel hurried as fast as he could inside after him.  The inside of the power station was dark, and it was hard trying to follow Megatron through the twisting corridors, before they finally came out into a huge room, filled with turbines.  Here and there, a few night shift workers walked this way and that.

A lone floating Smith and Western hovered above a catwalk, overlooking the turbines below.  "Interesting," Megatron said.  "My *Garble* indicates that these turbines are powered by burning a fossil fuel called coal, that produces thermal energy when burned."  Steel could've sworn Megatron sounded impressed.  "Primitive, yet effective."

"So what happens now?"  Steel asked.

"Now," Megatron replied.  "We take the energy!"  He roared the last statement, making all the workers turn their heads.  Steel cringed in fear, then stumbled back in shock, as the gun suddenly split apart, and transformed in the giant iron man he'd seen before.  He'd witnessed this transformation earlier when he'd left for Brisbane, but watching it again after such a long time, was still awe inspiring.

The workers all gasped and staggered back, as Megatron's massive bulk filled the room.  Megatron grinned down at them, then, chuckling, raising his arm cannon to the ceiling, and fired.  The blast tore through roof, sending masonry and mortar raining down on the men below, who started panicking and running about.

"Megatron!"  Steel cried out form the catwalk, "What about keeping a low profile!?!"

"That time is over, Flesh Creature!"  Megatron replied, as he stepped forward, and raised his hands before the turbines.  "Once I am through wit this place, I'll have enough energy to resurrect my army, then no force in the universe will be able to stop me!!"  

Suddenly, electricity leapt from the turbines and into Megatron's fingertips.  Megatron started laughing as his eyes blazed with energy.  "Yes, yes!"  He shouted.  "More, energy!  More!"  The turbines began to whine and moan, almost slowing down, as Megatron sucked power from them.

Finally, he held his hands above his head and laugh in triumph.  "Beware, Optimus Prime!"  He shouted out loud.  "Megatron, has returned!"  

**TO BE CONTINUED…**

_As the two leaders set about bringing their armies back on line, an encrypted message sends both factions to Scotland, where a mysterious stasis pod awaits them, along with some of histories finest.  It's Autobots Vs. Decpeticons, Prime Vs. Megatron, with the fate of their home world, hanging in the balance._

**Next chapter:  "Return to Engagement!"**

**AN:**  If enough people ask, I will draw up pictures of what both the Autobots and the Decepticons look like in their robot, and alternative 19 Century modes.  What do you say?


End file.
